


Brothers

by Kifujin Kitade (KifujinKitade)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KifujinKitade/pseuds/Kifujin%20Kitade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of those who had been cast aside.<br/>Xanxus x Squalo. Hint of Belphegor x Squalo and Dino x Squalo</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

'But… Where's Mamma?'  
A small boy – skinny, poorly dressed and barely nine – was standing in front of a semi-old house. His hair was fair and short, though long bangs were hiding his childish eyes.  
The boy was called Bel.  
At his side was standing another child, a bit smaller than him. That was his younger brother, Fran. At that time Fran had just reached his seventh year. He had odd green hair which had more than once attracted people's attention, mostly children of his age who found in that fact a subject of joke and bullying. So, to prevent his brother to be severely wounded by his bullies, Bel had since long learnt to stay with him in order to protect him from the older ones, like that day after school classes. The world had no pity for two children who had no father, no name, who lived with their mother only in a shanty. They had no friend at all, nor at school, nor in the neighborhood.  
With time the little Fran grew to be a strange child, still and with eyes strangely placid, as if he had already seen all the misfortune in this world, that was of course false. No need to say the two boys were often rejected by the other children because of that fact, and maybe some others – who would ever understand children's own logic?  
A middle-aged lady was standing in front of the house, frowning at the two kids. She sighed with nervousness.  
'I told you that your mother's gone!' She half-yelled, half-sighed. 'Don't ask me where. The house has been left like this since that morning. In any case it had been ages since she last paid the rent. I was already planning to throw you out, so it's nice for me.'  
What was that? Mamma? Gone? Bel couldn't understand it. That morning she still was with them, having breakfast and smiling like every day! Of course they were poor; as young as he was, Bel could understand that obvious reality, grown-up people's pitiless world. Yet, they were happy together! Mamma always said that, even if sometimes she was crying in the kitchen, or having a very, very sad face when she was back from work, very late at night (the blonde would wait for her, as late as he could stay awake. Fran couldn't, he was too young)… But not once she had said such awful thing as leaving them behind! Never!  
'You… You're lying! Mamma must be there! Madam, please, you have to find her!' Bel tried desperately to convince the lady – and maybe himself. Fran was staring at the wretched street they had always lived in with empty eyes. The dreadful situation they were in didn't seem to trouble him that much.  
The landlady scowled at that little rascal. How could a child like him dare tell her what to do? 'Okay, listen boys.' She folded her arms. 'Your mother is gone. I don't know where. But that sort of thing, it's just happening every day in here, you understand? I can't do anything about it. Now, go away before I seriously think about deadly clouting you!'  
Then she slammed the door – that door Bel had once thought it would always be their impregnable protector.  
The skinny child and his younger brother were left there, on the landing of their former house.  
'Brother.' Fran finally uttered, as awaken from his slumber by the slammed of the door. 'What's happening?'  
What's happening? Bel would have like someone to explain him. For a child of his age, the boy was indeed very clever; some would even call him a genius. Yet that kind of situation… How would a nine-year old child react to something like that?  
'I … I don't know…' He muttered, more for himself than for Fran.  
Watching right and left, Fran grabbed his brother's tiny hand. A small, fragile hand; the hand of a kid. 'Why aren't we going back home? And where's mamma?'  
Hearing those words, Bel's heart wringed. He clenched his teeth.  
'Mamma … Is gone, the landlady said. This isn't our home anymore.'  
'Why? That morning Mom said she's going to buy a hu~ge cake for us! Why wouldn't she buy it?'  
Did that woman say that? He assumed yes, as Fran remembered. Bel couldn't remember exactly his mother talked about that. But did he care? That woman left them! She left them, alone; they didn't even have a house anymore! Nowhere to go back… Nowhere to go… What was they supposed to do henceforth? They didn't know anyone else; they didn't have another family but their mother… Friends? There was none. Or had she ever mentioned anyone close enough to them… Someone, anyone…  
'Brother!' Fran's voice suddenly raised, his grip tightening.  
Then Bel saw why: a group of children – maybe five or six, dark eyes and angry smiles on their lips – there or thereabouts the same age as them, were gathering in front of their house, right before them. He hadn't notice their presence before Fran called him – the reason could be seen on his brother's overall: a huge stain of mud was soiling the thin cloth.  
'Hey, freaks!' One of the children – the oldest it seemed – snickered. 'That big liar of Dordoni just told us that the puttana you call your mother had left you. Is that true?'  
'Bo-hoo-hoo!' Another boy laughed while pretending crying. 'Poor little things! Oh, so sad!'  
'Was she fed up of seeing you freaks every day?' A third said. 'I can understand: you're hideous, dude!'  
'Yes, yes! Hideous! Monstrous! Awful freaks!' They all sang together.  
Again. Having those stupid kids annoying them like that was a common thing for the two brothers – eternal fate of marginal people. The only solution they found to it was staying together, no matter what, and ignoring the mockery. And at that moment, more than ever, they had to stay together. Bel could endure their stupidity, but he was afraid for Fran. Instinctively the blonde pulled his brother behind him.  
A kid threw mud at them. 'Tell something, freaks! What's with you! Wanna cry 'cause Mamma isn't there anymore?'  
Burst of laughs from the others.  
'Make them cry! Make them cry!'  
'I think the older's gonna burst! Do you see it? Do you see it?'  
'You wanna fight, freak? Go cut you stupid hair before! Ugly monster!'  
'Ugly monster! Ugly monster!'  
The bullying had last for about ten minutes. People were passing by, watching at the kids as if that was some new kind of play, then went on.  
'Ah! Ah! Ah!' The first kid cruelly laughed. 'He's gonna cry! Keep on, guys! He's gonna- A dull sound. Ouch!'  
He fell on his knees, rubbing hurtfully at his head as if something had just hit it.  
'Vitto? What's wrong wi- Another dull sound. Ouch!'  
The second boy fell with the same fashion as his older.  
'Hey! Someone's throwing stones at us!' Another one bellowed. Right after they were all watching at every sides of the street for the damned brat who had done that to their friends.  
'Get out from your hole, bastardo!' The first boy roared, back on his feet. 'Or are you too a coward of a man to face your opponents before attacking them?'  
A ferric laugh burst in the middle of nowhere, tearing the stillness where the children were left in after that unexpected assault. And then he appeared from his hiding-place, behind a corner. Him, a boy older than Bel – perhaps twelve or thirteen, the blonde couldn't exactly say as the boy was really lean, more than the bullies; him, his alert legs drawing him nearer end nearer to the group; him, his blazing spiky hair shining in the setting sun's last ray (but it was actually silvery, almost white, as Bel could see it when he was near enough), framing his proud and childlike features yet distorted by a deep scowl and a wicked grin showing shining teeth. It was the first time Bel saw that boy in their district – he sure he was, such a freak couldn't go unnoticed. The boy was waving a sword with his left hand, but it was still sheathed in its cover.  
When he saw the bewildered/wrathful faces of the bullies, the silver head laughed – a loud, mocking laugh, which was passing himself off more as an anime's bad guy rather than the hero.  
'Voooi! Coward, you say?' He shouted. His voice was as sharp as a saw, his shark-like fangs bearing the comparison. 'Little trash. You sure are one to talk! Don't you feel the least ashamed assaulting two brats half your height with your brainless friends?'  
More or less back from their first amazement, the bullies were eyeing dangerously the new comer.  
'And what the hell is your name?' The first bully, assumedly the leader, raised and pointed a grubby thumb to his chest. 'Mine is Vittorio Mancinelli, son of Umberto Mancinelli!' His chest was about to burst, Bel noted. For the kid, it was actually a great pride for him to tell to everyone that his father was the son of the local upholsterer. Nevertheless, it had no effect on the stranger.  
The silverette's grin widened. He leaned on his sword, almost as tall as him.  
'Voi. I'm Superbi Squalo, son of no one, and the guy who's going to kick your sorry asses off, trashes.'  
…  
That day, Superbi Squalo had woken up with a hellish stiff neck. Maybe it was due to his damn pillow, as hard as a stack of rocks, or maybe it was due to the fact that he could simply not sleep in a normal position, or maybe both. However it didn't avert the fact that he woke up that morning on the floor of his minuscule, miserable flat, his bed upside down, and a fucking knot in his back – word for word.  
To divert himself from the pain, he went for a walk. Mid-afternoon he still was walking in the populous streets, elbowing his way in the compact crowd. The passers-by were watching at the twelve years old boy with angry looks, glaring at his ragged clothes and the sheathed sword in his hand (sword that had never left him for years). Squalo had since long got accustomed to arrogant strangers looking down at him as if he was the scum of the earth. He didn't care. For him they were anything more than trashes, scraps soiling his landscape that should just go die already.  
Yet the boy wasn't sour. His life wasn't a prince's one-like, but that was his life – his rules, his freedom, his pride – and he needed no more.  
Gurgling sounds in his stomach. Now he thinks about it, he hadn't eaten anything since last night. That wasn't for want of appetite, but this month's budget went unexpectedly short. Well, it was a common occurrence. He would have to see if they had some extra job for him to do at the railways.  
'Ah. But it's already evening. Is it even possible to… Mmh?'  
That was odd. He had never crossed that town's area before. Squalo wasn't afraid (he's never afraid!) but he wasn't sure of the way he had to take to go back at the main streets. The district was deplorable: antic houses with faded yellow walls falling into disrepair where packs of families still were living in. There were old women with sad faces, as yellow as the walls, sitting on the landing, talking in an idle moment, their all life. Dirty children were running everywhere, playing straight in the mud, in an upsetting reek in the air; a scrawny, filthy, mangy dog was rummaging in a mount of garbage, about to give up the ghost …  
"Ugh! That place is depressing. No way am I staying here." The boy thought. He was about to leave when he heard some high-pitched cries coming from behind one of those indistinguishable buildings. They were like children's. Squalo gave an ear.  
'… Hideous! Monstrous! Awful freaks!' He could hear.  
Intrigued, the silverette followed them until he fell on the previous scene. It wasn't a very funny scene – six brats tormenting two others, almost babies (but he actually found their look quiet odd: the bigger had bangs hiding completely his eyes and the smaller green hair); it only added to all the depressing effect of the place. The swordsman-to-be boy decided the view wasn't worth his time, he turned tails. Behind cruel laughs still were echoing.  
'…Wanna cry 'cause Mamma isn't there anymore? ...'  
Squalo sighed. Really, weren't there any grown asses people to check on their own children? The boy was no hero, no Superman or the nice guy from that TV show, the big brother. He kept on walking.  
'…I think the older's gonna burst! …'  
How stupid. Stupid, childish, puerile fights…  
'… Ugly monster! Ugly monster! ...'  
Finally he stopped.  
'Voi! You asked for it, brats!' Squalo roared to himself. Turning back to the previous spot, he picked up a stone on the ground and, lightly throwing it in the air, he hit it hard with his sheathed sword, in the same way a baseball player would hit a homerun. 'Tok!' The stone went directly on the bullying leader's head.  
'Ouch!' He could hear from the wounded kid. Without waiting, he took another rock and with the same swift move, it went on the back of the second's head. 'Ouch!'  
The boy smirked at his throw's accuracy, spoiling himself with the results. After all, being Batman wasn't that bad, Squalo thought. The moment was the best for a dramatic entrance. Baring his teeth and scowling even more, he was ready for his one man show.

'Voi. I'm Superbi Squalo, son of no one, and the guy who's going to kick your sorry asses off, trashes.' The silverette's loud voice resounded violently in Bel's ears. The other children stayed agape, just before bursting in laugh.  
'Ah! Ah! Look at that idiot! Who the hell is he kidding?' The leader Vittorio panted.  
'This one really is stupid.' Fran muttered behind his brother.  
'How can such idiots even exist?'  
'Ma dai ! Che deficiente!'  
'He's as crazy as he's idiot!'  
Vitto was almost bending forward, so much he was laughing his ass off. The others were snickering in unison, still awkward about whether they should take the new comer seriously or treat him like a madman.  
'Ah ah ah...' The silver-haired boy chuckled bitterly. Squalo though wasn't happy. While the other brats were giggling like turkey-cocks, he slid to the first kid to his right. The latter didn't even have time to look back before the sheath made contact with the back of his head.  
'Ouch!' And he fell on the ground. Another one followed, then another after that one. Perhaps at that time the hits were a bit more hurtful, because the children didn't get up straightaway. The all thing happened in less than five seconds, so fast that the head was still laughing when the last one of his friends fell down. He didn't look rather glad when he saw that he had no allies anymore.  
'Vooooi, so what were we talking about, trash?' The shark-like teen grinned at the bully. He was cornered, but at the same time he kept on frowning angrily at the silver head.  
'How did you… you fucker! You're just a bastard… And why are you here in the first place? They have nothing to do with you!' The head bully spat, pointing at the two forgotten brothers.  
'Ha! I don't give a flying fuck about those brats.' Squalo neared dangerously the unsteady Mancinelli kiddo and aimed at him with his sheathed sword. They were at matching height. 'It's only that scums like you disgust me to no hell.'  
The applicant-swordsman was glaring. He waved swiftly his sword above his head, ready to give the final blow. In only one second the covered blade cut the air on top of the two teens' head in a dramatic way, ready to fall down on the bully's head… But then it stopped, one inch from Vitto's cheek. The latter, seeing that the hit didn't come, sighed heavily with relief – he hadn't noticed he was that edgy. But sure he had been since he literally fell on his back, his legs way too shaking to support him anymore. Squalo, looking down on him, laughed haughtily at his frightened form.  
'I'll… I'll remember that, you bastard…' He bit at his lower lip. After that, seeing that behind the shark his friends were slowly recovering from their faint, he got up and slowly moved away. 'I'll make you pay for this…'  
It made Squalo laugh louder.  
'Ah! Ah! Fucking woozy brats! Come back when you can at least stand upright in front of me!'  
They all ran away.  
"Che. Surely back to their mama's apron-strings." Squalo thought to himself. A light applause suddenly came from beside him, slightly startling him. He looked aside to notice that the previous children still were there. It was the smaller one – the one with green hair – who was applauding monotonously.  
'Er…' Bel started, pretty unsure. 'Thank you for helping us.'  
The silverette blinked. 'Voi. I didn't do that for you, kids. They were noisy. That's all.'  
Bel however didn't give in. As a matter of fact, that silver-haired boy was the first person apart from their mother who hadn't showed them ill feeling. Yet, he still was a stranger. The blonde didn't know how to deal with strangers. He kept on staring down, hands awkwardly crumpling the tail of his overall.  
Witnessing the kid's embarrassment, Squalo frowned uneasily. That one, too, wasn't comfortable with people showing him gratitude. Most of time they would tell him to shut his loud mouth, look at them less angrily, and for-God's-sake-stop yelling-at-the-first-words-they-would-say. Actually he wasn't even used to lend a hand in a dash of humanity. The silverette couldn't help but feel a ball of enjoyment rolling in his stomach.  
'Well… It was nothing. Farewell, boys.' He muttered before turning back, ready to resume on what he had been doing previous to that skirmish : that was annoying some acquaintance of him at the railways for the sake of the next day's lunch.  
Squalo turned tail and glanced warily at the old houses surrounding him. Let's remind the reader that the teen was still lost. It seemed that Bel noticed his embarrassment (he was standing motionless, not making one move) as he raised a childish voice.  
'Maybe… You're lost?'  
'Vooi! I'm not fucking lost!' Came the deafening answer from a stiffened silverette. 'I can find my way back! I just need time…' The loudness yet didn't bother the blonde.  
'I can show you the way to the main street.'  
'Ah.'  
Looks like that time he had to sit down on his damn pride, Squalo thought.  
'This would be… Hum… helpful.'  
Bel's heart jumped (it wasn't quite visible, with all the hair hinding half of his face). That was certainly the first positive interaction the brothers had with someone else since years. He grabbed at Fran's tiny hand and headed to the waiting shark. The sky had grown darker.  
'Where were you going?' Bel asked as they were walking side by side, with the green-haired kid stuck to him.  
'Railways. Wonder if I can get something. It's already pretty late.'  
'Get what?'  
'Job… Voooi! Why are you asking all those questions? That's boring!'  
'I've just asked two things…'  
'… Che. Whatever.'  
They continued chatting like that until they reached the avenue's crowded sidewalk. It didn't take. They were so engrossed with their conversation (it wasn't principally a conversation; mostly the same things as above) that none of them noticed that they had been tagging along to the station. After all, it wasn't as if someone was specially waiting any one of them.  
The place was almost void of people when they got there. Among the few railwaymen still remaining, Squalo spotted the one he was looking for, at the other side of the platform. That was a mid-aged man with clear hair and a fairly muscular body.  
'Voooi! Iemitsu! Where is everyone?' The silverette shouted at him.  
'Don't "voi" me like that, it's deafening!' Iemitsu frowned in a comical way. 'Of course, they're gone! The day's already over.'  
Squalo che-ed. He had gone all that way (okay, it wasn't that far) and lost his time for nothing. He would have rather practiced his sword instead.  
'And tomorrow?'  
'This, I don't know.' The older man shrugged. 'Hey, brat, if you really want to work that much then stop fooling around and settle here already!'  
'Ha! I've better things to do with my time, ol'man.'  
'I'm not old!' Iemitsu barked at the teen. 'Apologize right now, you stupid brat.'  
'In your dreams, ol'man.' Squalo waved a hand. 'So I'll be back tomorrow. Be sure there'll be something for me!'  
He then turned his back to the fuming railwayman who was still lecturing him about his lack of seriousness, his stupid sword hobby, etc. etc. Bel and Fran were following him like his shadow (practically they were his shadow; he wasn't even aware of their presence).  
Once they got out, the first thing Squalo noted was his hungry stomach grunting with dissatisfaction.  
'Now, what am I supposed to do… Guess all I can do is go back ho- Ah? Why are you still here?' He inquired when at last he caught sight of the two children.  
To that, Bel found nothing to reply. They had followed him unconsciously, just like magpies trailing after the first shining stuff. And how was he supposed to explain to a complete stranger that they had no family, no home anymore? The all situation was overwhelming him. So the two kids just stood, still and uneasily, in front of the silver head.  
'Mama's gone.' Fran whispered drearily, as if the problem didn't interest him.  
Squalo ruffled his spiky hair with one hand. Seriously, what was he supposed to do? He somehow understood in what kind of situation the kids were, he sympathized with them. But he, himself, had some urgent troubles he had to solve. To load himself with two brats would never arrange his case…  
'What about dropping at my home for tonight?' The words came out from his mouth without the teen even knowing it.  
'Ah?'  
Hearing that, Bel first couldn't believe his ears. Why would someone he had just known for two hours really give two kids a hand in that moment? Neither the landlady, neither the neighbors did; and they'd known the kids for ages.  
'Perv-' Fran started to mutter before being hushed by his brother. Fortunately the silver head hadn't heard him.  
'Voooi, don't make me say it twice. You have nowhere to go, don't you?'  
'That's… true.'  
The blonde kid didn't say anything else, before returning to his quietness. The silence was tiresome for the swordsman-to-be teen, and he didn't like that at all.  
'Voooi! Stop doing that and walk!' He said at last, while pushing the children ahead.  
'We are bothering you?'  
Squalo's apartment was built in an attic. The tiny room was bathed in darkness, but if there had been daylight Bel would have noticed in what kind of shambles Squalo was living. In the half-light, he could clearly distinguish the undone bed with mounts and mounts of useless things on it – blankets, clothes, pillows, and more unknown stuffs. Apart from the bed (which was already taking the most of the space with everything overflowing from it) there were only a TV and an used desk.  
'You're living alone?' Fran asked.  
'Yeah. Whatsoever.' The silverette turned the light on, threw his keys in a corner and pointed at the immense formless pile. 'Ahem. The bed is somewhere under. Use it.'  
Fran grimaced.  
'It's okay.' Bel said before pulling at the bedspread. Everything fell on the ground. 'Where are you sleeping?'  
Squalo pulled at a blanket and spread it on the floor. He shrugged.  
'I'll sleep here. It's fine. In the end I almost always end my nights down here.'  
The green-haired child gave him a pillow (the most cumbersome one) and got on, right away followed by the blonde. 'Well then ... Goodnight?'  
'Aa.' The silverette hauled a blanket to him and slumped on his pillow.  
The light was switched off. Once more, the room was plunged into dimness. The light from a lamp post only, filtered by a curtain-less window, was lightening the space. Squalo was fast asleep. Bel, though, couldn't. He was curling up on himself, Fran was still sticking against him, sound asleep. The bed surely was small, but it was enough for both of them.  
The boy was thinking.  
So, what should he do starting from now? For that night, they were safe. But tomorrow?... His mind was running wildly. Not once in his life he had to take care of himself. Even in the downiest part of their previous life, not once had they been faced to such extremity. Suddenly, he strangely felt tired and distracted. His eyelids were tickling, his chin trembled. Soon hot beads of tears went flowing from his veiled eyes. Bel cried silently, cried, cried for a long time. It was as if the kid was trying to evacuate all the pain in his little body with those tears.  
It really was afflicting, the sad scene of a nine-year old child giving way to all his sadness: sadness of losing his mother, sadness of losing his home, sadness of losing his daily life, as insignificant as it could be.  
He shuddered. Luckily for him, it was hardly noticeable; his brother didn't wake up. Yet Squalo heard him.  
'Voi.' The silver-haired called without moving from his place. 'Kiddo, you're still awake?'  
'Mmh.'  
None of them could see the other's face: Bel watching at the wall and Squalo the opposite one.  
'What are you thinking about?'  
'Mmh.'  
'… You're not willing to talk, are ya?'  
Awkward silent.  
Squalo was perplexed. He truly, truly wasn't used with that. He had been a child at a complete loss too… Long, long ago. So long that he didn't remember how he had done back then. But those ones weren't like him.  
He rolled on himself to watch at the kids.  
'You should sleep. Kids shouldn't think about things too big for them.'  
'You're a kid, too.' Fran's voice rose unexpectedly.  
'Shut up, brat.' Squalo grunted. 'Just why can't you two sleep like normal people? I've something to do tomorrow.'  
'I'm hungry.' The green-haired boy stated.  
'I'm hungry too, but I'm not whining because of this.'  
'You're whining right now.' Bel said sarcastically.  
'Shut it I said! Why the hell did I pick up damn brats?... As if I didn't have anything else… What the?...' The silverette raised and cursed when he felt something sliding under his blanket. That was Bel. Fran, as always, was tagging along. The kids settled beside him.  
'Sorry for the intrusion.'  
Squalo was making a face; certainly the angrier he had made for his entire life. With three of them on the floor, it was the same thing as if they had stayed on the small bed.  
'Che.' The silver-head finally gave up. 'I agree to that because it's only for this night. And I don't want anyone to remind me of this tomorrow!'  
He went to the futon again, grumbling: "Stupid brats – I'm not a fucking babysitter – how did things become like that…" And others things you don't want to hear, in actual fact.  
Apart from that the night went on peacefully.  
…  
Fran looked at him, at that ugly, hairy face with things like earrings all other it. The green haired boy watched, or more exactly stared at him, then, pointing a tiny and mocking finger at the Goliath, he said:  
'Disgusting, grotesque pervert.'  
'Huuuuh?' The pervert roared in front of his door. We forgot to explain that said grotesque personage was one of their new silver haired friend's neighbor, so consequently, their.  
It had been one week since the three boys started living together. By that time the children somehow got used to the place. A weird place, indeed. Squalo's flat (if that minuscule room could be called a flat) the flat was built in the third and last floor of an aged building, in an old district of the town. The house was looking on an even older on-way street – most of the day void of people – with lamp posts bordering it. The entire area was a nice place to live: never too congested with traffic in the daylight, and certainly prostitutes-free by night.  
In any case it wasn't really some place a thirteen year old kid with no income could afford.  
The fact was that the landlady – more closely a landlord – became totally infatuate with the silver haired. So, the landlord, a Brazilian fan of sunglasses, pink boa and green hair, seeing a cutie (in his point of view) like Squalo with nowhere to go, he simply allowed the teen to stay in an unoccupied room. In view of Squalo's situation back then, all he could do was to sit down on his pride for once and accept the generous proposition.  
The hairy pervert wasn't the only weird one. Bel and Fran hadn't the occasion to see all of them because of their different schedules. However they had already spotted a dark, gothic-like girl with a hood hiding half of her face; her name was Mammon, she seemed to be a fairly famous novelist. Squalo also told them that something like a robotics genius, an Irie-something, was living on the first floor. Besides, whenever they would stomp nearby they would hear noises of explosion which confirmed the rumor, even if they'd ever seen anyone leaving the room. The landlord Lussuria was living at the ground floor.  
But even knowing that, nor Squalo nor the children had already seen any of them in the same time. The genius was always locked in; the novelist too, only sometimes would she get out. Lussuria would only go out at in night-time, so the only one left was the Goliath pervert, whom Fran was pointing so impolitely.  
'You shrimp, how dare you?' The fuming hairy man grunted while heaving the green-haired child with one hand. 'Is that how brats are supposed to talk to their elders?'  
Fran didn't even struggle. 'Oooh an old pervert is assaulting me.' He spoke with his monotonous tone. 'Someone help me.'  
'Shut up!' Leviathan hushed the kid. 'Don't say things people can misunderst- Gah!'.  
Stab. Stab. Stab.  
No, those sounds didn't come from the bearded one. But from the three shiny knives driven in the wall right beside the bearded one, yes.  
'Ushi shi.' A crystalline voice resounded from the staircase's well. Bel appeared, a wide grin on his lips. 'Old geezer, what are you doing? I almost stabbed you because you were in my knives' trajectory.'  
'That's right, you pedophile. Stop getting in the trajectory of my dumb brother's odd knives.'  
Stab.  
Another knife landed at Levi's feet.  
'They aren't.'  
'By the way, do you know that your laugh is weird, too? It's like you're saying sushi-shi shi all the time. That's gross.'  
Stab. Stab. Stab.  
'You're getting pretty impertinent, kid.' Bel added as he pulled his younger brother from a dead paralyzed Levi's hands.  
'Aaa, help please.' Fran kept on his boring ranting. 'A mentally ill kidnapped me, call the…'  
The door closed. The kids were back in their tiny apartment. Bel threw himself on the bed and turned the TV on. Fran sat next him.  
'Um? Did you pick up your knives?' Fran asked.  
'Nope. Go fetch them.'  
'I don't want to. You threw, you go find them.'  
'I won't'  
'Neither do I.'  
Both silenced. Their relationship had developed to that stage – a minimum of conversation. Nevertheless, somebody who had known them before wouldn't have recognized them: Bel, that little, scared blonde child abandoned by his mother, Bel was smiling; but not in a childish way. A grin comparable to the Cheshire cat's. At first frightened by his new life, he somehow found the nerve to hold on and follow the pace – or rather that he snapped pretty bad and didn't want to fight back anymore.  
In the same way, Fran was fully feeling comfortable with the situation… No, if Bel had to guess, he actually wouldn't know. His brother had always been, not secretive, but in reality something very near to a fish – quiet, still, with eyes staring blankly around him. But perhaps that was also why he so easily got enthusiastic for Squalo. After all, they were both fishes. Oh, but the shark wouldn't eat Fran; Squalo still was a baby shark too.  
And maybe that was why they both didn't like hearing Bel laughing, because it would remind them sushi…Wait. What the hell of a reason was that?  
Anyway they were waiting for the silverette. That was their daily routine since Squalo let them stay, one week ago. The swordsman-to-be never wanted to justify himself. He simply didn't have the guts to tell the kids "go die somewhere else"; an assumed portion of humanity in him couldn't allow him that. So they stayed.  
The only problem the brothers would face, if that could even be called a problem, was the boredom. Even if the shark was an overly loud companion, there was absolutely no one to talk with, when he wasn't there. Not as if things were different at their previous too. That was what encouraged Bel and Fran to venture outside for the first time since days, only to meet that hairy ol'man.  
Feeling too bored, Fran got up then, living Bel sprawling plainly on the bed, he went to the window. Since it was still mid-afternoon, the green haired kid still could see people in the constricted street. His childish eyes wandered all over the place, from a lady in livery carrying a huge package full of provisions, to a man in suit running on the sidewalk, looking constantly at his watch. Maybe one hour later though there had been a lot more people, mostly kids in different uniforms. The child supposed that they were nearby schools' students. Seeing that reminded him of his own school, and whether anyone noticed that his brother and he had disappeared for one week.  
'Squalo is late.' Bel said idly behind his back. Fran didn't really care.  
He cast his glance on the other buildings. They were all made in the same fashion: big block of stones standing indifferently in that street of no age. Fran paused on the house in front of his. Something or someone had moved behind one of the windows when he looked at it. First he thought it was only his imagination, yet that was true: someone truly shifted behind the closed curtains, as if he or she wanted to see without being seen. The green haired child decided on tripping the voyeur. He borrowed one of his brother's knives ('Ushi shi shi. Now you don't say they're ugly anymore?'), then he hid himself under the window, holding the knife so that he could see the other one reflecting on the blade. The sharp dagger was polished enough for things to reflect perfectly. Soon enough Fran saw him: a blonde boy, maybe of the same age as Squalo, slowly pulled the opposite window's curtains open. The teen looked as if he was quite astonished with what he was witnessing in Squalo's room.  
'Bel. Did you see that?' Fran asked whilst pointing at the observer.  
'Shi shi, since long ago.' The other blonde replied without turning to his brother. Let's recall the reader that Bel still had those curtain-like bangs hiding his eyes. Nothing was easier for him than watching without people knowing.  
At that moment, he pulled out another knife and threw it at the curtained window. However, due to a lack of strength in his young arm, the blade only hit the cornice, although it had been enough to startle the teen. That time the blonde teenager actually ran away from the window.  
It made Bel burst with his maniacal laughs. Fran only sighed with disappointment: he had no one to tease anymore. But soon, heavy stomps told him that he still had one hope left.  
'Vooooi, brats! What the fuck have you been doing here since I left?' Squalo's angry voice almost burst the two children's eardrums when he got in.  
'You're too noisy,Squalo. And we've done nothing wrong.' Bel grinned.  
'Huh? And that?' The silverette brandished a handful of Bel's knives. 'What is that?'  
'Knives.' Fran answered.  
'I fucking know these are knives!' Squalo yelled louder. 'What I want to know is where the fuck did you get that from? And why the hell were they with that fucking ol'man?'  
'I found them.' Bel simply said.  
'In the street.' Fran added.  
'You… shitty brats, you're kidding me, aren't you?' Squalo was shivering with rage. The knives were like castanets in his hand.  
Bel giggled louder, still lying in the bed, feet swinging in the air. Fran stared. Squalo sighed.  
'Vooi. Anyway I don't want to see those anymore. That's dangerous for fuck's sake!'  
Bel che-ed.  
'You're being hypocrite.' Fran remarked. 'You're always playing with your sword.'  
'But that's because I know what I'm doing!' The silver haired replied vehemently. 'You kiddos just play with little cars.'  
'Okay so can you give them back?' Bel requested the most innocently he could. 'I swear I won't use them anymore.'  
Squalo snickered. 'Like hell, you shrimp! I wouldn't be alive anymore if I were to believe shit like that!'  
'So you're keeping them with you?'  
'Hella yes!'  
'There's one more.'  
'One more knife? Where?'  
Two little fingers pointed at the window of the opposite house, at the shining blade driven in the cornice. Squalo approached the window and ogled, agape. 'Don't tell me you reached it?'  
Bel ushi-shi-ed. 'Well, yes. That's 'cause I'm a genius.'  
'But you missed the target.' Fran reminded him.  
'Liar.'  
'So, Squalo' The green head continued. 'Go take it back, please.'  
'Go fuck yourself!' Squalo shouted. 'Am I your damn errand boy? And that shit's better where it is. There at least you won't get it…' Suddenly the silverette paused. 'Unless they… Voi, shrimp, did anybody saw you throwing that knife?'  
Bel raised from the bed. 'Would that change anything? A boy in that house did. He was watching a bit to disrespectfully this way so I just…' He gestured himself throwing a knife.  
'Crap.' Squalo cursed. 'Now I do have to take it back.'  
Saying that, he got out. Seconds after the kids could see him from the window, crossing the street. There he disappeared in a dark lane (night had already started to fall), right next the blonde's house. Maybe two minute later they caught a glimpse of him, but on equilibrium the cornice, his hands gripping tightly at the wall (the window was at the second floor).  
Bel and Fran were on the point of applauding the silverette when the latter cast them a deadly glare, as if to say "Look at what I have to do because of you." And that was true. Squalo knew that that wasn't normal neighborhood that was living in that house. He had seen the inhabitants from time to time; or more accurately the visitors of the inhabitants.  
They were all Mafiosi.  
What would they even say if he casually told them the kid living in the facing house had deliberately tried to assassinate their heir?  
'Now I'm near. I can see it.' Squalo breathed when he reached the window next to the concerned one. He slowly reached to the knife, one meter far from him. The swordsman could feel the intent gaze of the children stuck on his back. But he still was too far away from the blade's handle, so, bit by bit, he closed the distance between them. Fortunately it was dark enough for anyone to see him, and passers-by wouldn't have the idea to look above their head, so he still was safe.  
Ten more centimeters and the knife was within reach. Squalo concentrated on his target and bent down to pick it up… when all of a sudden the window he was clinging on in order to keep balance, opened.  
Stunned, the silver haired boy easily lost balance. His foot slept on the cornice, he couldn't find anything else to sustain himself. Squalo was on the brink of falling; and at the other side of the street the two kids couldn't do anything but watch.  
That was at that precise instant that he felt two hands clutching tightly at his left arm.  
Squalo was safe.  
Shocked and with sweat covering his forehead and shoulders, but safe and sound.  
'Hey! Are you all right?' A panicked voice asked above him.  
He looked up at his savior (for perhaps ten seconds he hadn't done anything but staring at the void under his feet). He was a boy as young as him, with blonde hair framing his young face.  
Dino was his name.

Back then, Dino Chiavarone was nothing but a young boy with a head full of dreams, naïve ideals and, as Squalo used to say, stupid plans for the future. Of course none of those projects was taking into account the fact that he was the first heir of a Mafiosi Famiglia.  
The boy was quite oblivious for his age… No. More exactly he did want to forget that he was himself a Mafioso-to-be. Dino on the contrary was rather the "human" type, always affable and caring about people, not apathetic at all. The most ironical fact about this is that his kind nature would have found some place anywhere, anywhere but in his social background. And in the same time, normal people would instinctively move away from him, not to get in trouble with his family.  
A lonely existence indeed.  
Dino was alone. Avoided both by members of his family; they would say that he wasn't an acceptable successor for the post of Decimo. Avoided by kids of his age; they would look at him whether with fear or uneasiness, and even hatred.  
As a result the blond teen would spend most of his time cloistered in his room. There nobody would judge him; there nobody would be disappointed in him.  
No need to say that it was an actually boring way of living. Nevertheless, there was a single detail that would somehow entertain the young Chiavarone's daily life. That was, a window of the old building right in front of his house. One day like another, long before that famous incident with Bel's knife, he heard a deafening "Voooooi" from said window. First Dino thought it was a new machine the scientist he knew was living there had built. But later the "Voi" repeated, and in different tones. Intrigued, the teen couldn't help but check by himself. Hidden behind the curtains of his own room's window, he peeked at the other side of the street. Then he saw him: a young boy he had never seen before, with short silvery hair and an angry look on his features.  
It had been the day the shark-like boy moved in his room.  
The boy had nothing in particular, Dino thought, so he just decided on returning to his homework. He kept like this… almost five minutes until the next "Voooi".  
What the hell? Dino cursed and went to his window. He then saw the silverette getting out by the main door with – Dino couldn't believe his eyes – a real sword, still sheathed, he was waving nonchalantly back and forth. The boy disappeared at the corner of the street.  
'A weirdo.' Dino whispered to himself.  
Yet as weird as Squalo could be (it had been easy to know his name: that guy was practically screaming it to the entire neighborhood), the Chiavarone still couldn't help but spying on him. After all that was the only pastime he had.  
Day after day watching discretely at the swordsman became his favorite distraction. Every morning – and Squalo is an early riser – would begin with a "Voi" waking up the entire street. They wouldn't be quiet until the silverette left for some training or any part-time job he managed not to get fired from. And at evening the same deafening entry and good night.  
The neighborhood would have mixed feelings toward the silver head. At first most of them would shout complaints in chorus with the morning "Voi", but after few weeks Dino thought everybody adapted. But apart from that, they seemed to get along well. Of course, mothers would always pester him about quitting playing with his sword and returning to school.  
At that thought, Dino laughed. Imagining Squalo shouting at teachers, cursing at other children and fighting with everybody at school was a scene he would have loved to see.  
And like that little by little his days lit up.  
They went on like that for some time: Dino watching at Squalo from afar, managing not to be seen, or hiding from him in the street. The young boy, who knows why, had instinctively accepted that someone like the silverette would never agree to hang on with a person as ordinary as him. So he kept on watching, amused with the shark's daily hubbub – always admiring the wild youth. Let's say that seeing two other kids with odd looking seriously moving in with the shark-like boy, in reality took him aback from a loner like Squalo.  
So back to our cornice.  
'Can you lift yourself up?' Dino stammered to the still clinging silver head beneath him.  
The silver head looked at him for about two seconds, and then frowned. He gripped painfully at the blond's arm and effortlessly hoisted himself to the window. Both more or less collapsed on the bedroom's floor. Dino was breathing hardly, his face all flushed and his hair a mess. The nearly trespassed only stared furiously at him.  
'Voooi' He greeted him. 'Why the fuck did you do that?'  
'Aaa…I'm sorry,' The Chiavarone stuttered. 'I didn't know you were behind the window…'  
'I'm not talking about that!' The swordsman-to-be said louder. 'Why did you have to save me?'  
Dino gaped, dazed by that self-unconsciousness. What sort of question was that?  
'Of course, because you were in danger! If I didn't, you would be dead by now, or at least in very bad shape! Do you know how far from the ground…'  
'Shut it, you brat! Even if that's true, I don't want to owe a spoiled brat like you life!'  
And saying that Squalo kicked the Chiavarone heir's leg, as to emphasize on his words. Dino wanted to retort at the mishandling, but instead he bit his lower lip.  
'You know, it hurts. I wasn't planning on asking you anything in return.' Dino stated with hesitation. He looked down for a fraction of second and sighed. The young boy wasn't sure of what he wanted for sure; so he just got up and smiled fondly at Squalo who was still sitting down.  
'My name's Dino.' The blonde teen said warmly whilst giving his hand to the silver head. 'For now, let's be friends?'  
To that, the silver head didn't find anything to respond. For some time he examined Dino's face, before grinning at him. The swordsman grabbed the blond's arm and rose up.  
'Voi, I'm Superbi Squalo. So you're the Chiavarone famiglia's good-for-nothing inheritor?'  
Dino laughed bitterly at the remark, Squalo didn't hear it. The silverette approached the open window and waved his hand at his own window. He was showing a glistening knife Dino hadn't noticed until that. He came closer too and tried to see who the boy was addressing. Dino finally saw the kids, the fair haired and the green haired one, both beckoning to the silver haired teen and his new friend.  
And just like the night turns into morning, Dino's long and boring days came to an end.

That day, they were all playing outside in the street. It had been the first time since they arrived that Bel and Fran got to do that, besides four new faces had joined their group. After hours and hours discussing – or more exactly arguing – about which game to play (Bel was about throwing his knives at everyone, Squalo about swords duels, one of the newcomers shouted about boxing while Fran simply wanted to play a game of tag); so after many hours, they settled on playing base ball. Of course none of them knew how to (the main reason why that game had been chosen among the others), so one of the kids happily agreed to teach his friends.  
'Voooi, you dork! You explain it like shit that's why I did the wrong thing!'  
'Ah ah! Maybe you're right, Squalo. Sorry!' A black haired boy, all smiling and all, laughed toward the silverette. Let's just say that Bel's first impression about him was of a simple-minded one.  
'This isn't the baseball freak's fault that Squalo's too dumb to understand anything else not related to swordsmanship.' Fran's dull voice rose a dark corner. 'This isn't supposed to be a game that ha-aa'  
Right at that moment the ball went two inches from Fran's head and hit something behind him. An "ushishishi" resounded from behind the silverette.  
'What did you say?' Bel asked casually. 'You know it's an eyesore to see a mouth blabbering nothing intelligent. And of course the Prince did understand the game's rules.'  
'Hey, you bastard! Look what you've done!' Another silver haired boy, furious and with the air of someone important, barked to Bel. He was showing a groggy brunet lying on the ground. The last kid looked the youngest of his band.  
'Oooh Tsuna. You're extremely knocked out!' A boy with his face covered with dressing shouted. The second silverette stiffed.  
'Idiot! He's unconscious so why do you have to yell in my ears?' Hayato shouted to Ryouhei.  
'You stupid brat are shouting too!' Squalo exclaimed.  
Soon enough the street became a real seat of howling, ushishi, voi, and again ushishi.  
'Okaaay, okay!' Dino at last parted the belligerents. 'You're all screaming like madmen! Just stop screaming! Squalo, you take your place and we'll continue where we left before.'  
Tired of shouting, everyone obediently submitted. The swordsman took the bat Takeshi gave him then both returned to their previous position, Squalo at the home plate and Takeshi at the pitcher's place. The silver head was already readying his arms when suddenly he paused his moves.  
'Vooi! So the Sawada shrimp's out, so who's supposed to stand behind me?'  
Hayato left his base and grunted. 'It can't be helped. I'll do it' then mumbling: 'I'm sure my TV show has begun since long. And today they're supposed to talk about Stonehenge…'  
'Voooi stop mumbling! That's annoying!' Squalo complained.  
As an answer Hayato grunted even more. Takeshi laughed, Dino sighed, Bel ushishi-ed, Ryouhei said his friend was a weirdo to the extreme, Fran and Tsuna did say nothing – the first one because of a lack of enthusiasm, the second because of a lack of consciousness.  
Takeshi pitched. Squalo hit the ball perfectly… But perhaps too perfectly. The ball flew higher and higher, so high that it hurt the back of the neck to watch it fly far, far away. Finally the small white spot disappeared behind the roofs of the houses.  
'Well… I guess it's a homerun?' The dark haired boy smiled. Squalo looked at him dubiously. 'Er… you know… it's when you can't catch the ball anymore.'  
'Shi shi. Idioooota Squalo.'  
'Shut up! Shut up or I'll skin you alive!'  
Bel put his tongue out.  
Next the problem was that there weren't enough players: there were almost the same players for the two teams. And even with that they still weren't enough. And also that with Tsuna out cold and players as involved as Fran and Bel, one could say that the game had absolutely no sense.  
'Now how are we going to do about the ball?' Ryouhei asked.  
'Wait a minute' Dino proposed. 'I'm sure I've one at home.'  
The older fair haired ran to his house, strangely falling down every three meters. That was maybe due to excitation or to the fact that he wasn't used to use his legs a lot, Dino supposed. Be that as it might, the fact was that it took him fifteen minutes to bring back a new ball. On the contrary it didn't even take one minute for the other kids to start fighting again.  
They resumed the play.  
Next Ryouhei was at the bat and Bel the pitcher. Squalo was behind the home plate replacing Hayato who had been since long fed up with playing – and that was more obvious with the yawns escaping from time to time his mouth. He just sat next to Tsuna, fanning the kid to wakeup. The other players were waiting at their positions.  
Bel was grinning like hell. There was nothing to panic about, truly. Yet anyone who had seen that boy's Cheshire cat's smile, would intuitively know that there was something bad putting his brain's cells in gear.  
He threw the ball to Ryouhei. He threw it too forcefully, with that godlike strength he had when he threw his knives. The other kid didn't even see the ball hitting his face.  
Dogatsu.  
Painfully.  
But the brave Ryouhei, believing that the white projectile was somewhere else than dug in his eye-socket, he started waving his bat as if to get rid of a fly. He waved it too much. Unfortunately it slipped from his hands and flew away… enough for Hayato to get hit on the forehead. The youth was now contorting with pain on the ground. The striker, half blind, start running. But again, being half-blind, he banged against Dino who still was on his base. They both fell, dazed. Bel was shaking with laughter, unable to move. Takeshi was laughing too, but not as much as the youngest blond. Fran wasn't moving at all, even if he was in charge of the right field. It had been an absurdity to try to make him play in the first place. Squalo on his side was utterly disconcerted. He was watching at the play, or the semblance of play put on show in front of him.  
The silverette honestly had no idea whether that was really how people did play baseball, whether that was an outrageous insult to the time during which he was supposed to practice. Anyway they said someone had to run somewhere while someone is catching the ball. Squalo wasn't sure if he was the one who had the catch the ball or if he had to run. At length the swordsman started running to the bases. I'm likely to win, he thought. Motivated with that idea, he kept on running until he got back to the home plate.  
Something one has to applaud him for was nevertheless the seriousness with which he was always trying to do things.  
'Voooi! How do ya all like that?' Squalo beamed proudly.  
Bel still was having hysterics, so much that his "ushishishi" was beginning to get on Squalo's nerves. With four players k-o, one good for the asylum and another one spacing out, the game was over for everyone.  
'Hey, kiddo, I won, didn't I?' Squalo called Takeshi, his voice in any case covering Bel's.  
Takeshi smiled at him with embarrassment. 'You know, Squalo, this isn't exactly how baseball is to be played…'  
'Squalo, you biiiig silly, stupid, idiot!' Bel managed to insert between two chuckles. 'You're the goddamn catcher! You're not even supposed to move from where you were!'  
The silverette stared at the last standing ones. First the grinning Bel, with saliva dripping from his mouth to the ground. He then stared at the sorry Takeshi; then at Fran who was absentmindedly fingering his noise. Gradually he felt his cheeks getting warmer and sweat covering his temples.  
That day Squalo, with the rest of pride in his soul, concluded that baseball wasn't a sport made for the greatness of the swordsman he was going to be.

War. It was war everywhere. Squalo could breathe the scent of mud, blood and gunpowder on his clothes. That was pretty much shit.  
He tried to lift his arm, it wouldn't. He then tried to get up… Useless. Damn. Fuck. Why was he so fucking tired and weak and deadly wounded? The clash had only last for few hours and already… Shit. Leaving that battlefield in one piece wasn't any objective anymore. Now even surviving was luxury the fourteen years old swordsman might not be able to afford.  
He looked at the stormy sky upon him. Rain would fall any soon.  
"I have to get up. At least if I get killed, that would be like a man, not like some scumy underlings of those bastards…" Squalo thought to himself and forced himself to stand up. Oh crap. His body was so damn aching that it was a miracle he didn't faint because of the pain. Using his sword as a crutch, the teen started to move on. There were hounds after him. No, not hired men or even assassins… Real dogs pursuing him for ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less. Hellish fuck he could hear them bark behind him. That was freaking bothersome.  
Goddamn if that wasn't some shitty life he had here! Fencing was something, but actually risking his life, pursued by motherfucking dogs... But who the hell told him that they would mean the same thing for him?  
All over the years, Squalo never gave up on his dream of becoming the most powerful swordsman ever. He learnt and practiced a lot, but right from the start he knew that sabring poor rag dolls would never help him reaching his goal. He had to cut people.  
Oh, that didn't mean that the silverette would go wild in the streets and start cutting honest citizens ones after the others. He wasn't that mad, after all. No, weaklings would never satisfy him. The young swordsman needed the strongest, the most feared fencers to fight against him, and if they wouldn't appear easily in front of him, then he would be more than eager to go look for them, even if they'd hide in the most despicable places.  
His first opponent had been, by chance, a hired gun. Squalo of course hadn't been the target (who in the world would target a poor little swordsman like him back then). Most of people wouldn't call it "chance" to meet such a man; not the silver haired boy. That man had just appeared randomly in front of him with a sheathed sword to his ankle, just like Squalo. The latter even called it "fate" for the hitman to come so easily to him. "And you should also be proud. You're the first on Superbi Squalo's list of defeated swordsmen." The man first laughed sarcastically at the young boy, but after only one minute exchanging blows, he lost his mocking grin. Soon enough for Squalo the hired gun's smirk got replaced by a grimace of panic. Really, how was he supposed to guess that a kid not even half his age would drive to him so easily?  
Squalo won. An overwhelming, tremendous victory, but more importantly, the first of a very long list.  
He couldn't stay still after just one triumph. His swords wouldn't settle with only that, his blood wouldn't calm down with so little glory.  
Squalo wanted it all. He wanted acknowledgement, he wanted praises; he craved for more power, more supremacy, for more and more!... So much arrogance in his young hands, indeed. Such trivial things, Superbi Squalo would never care.  
Though that was in reality that carelessness which had led him in such a dejected state.  
'Cough. Cough'. The teen couldn't stop choking; his own blood was trying to kill him by filling up his trachea. What an ironical fact.  
'Shit' Squalo cursed between two fits of coughing. 'Shit. They won't let me get out of here alive, huh? Maybe attacking someone from the Mafia was a bit… Shit.'  
He got up and started walking a bit faster. Oh God was the pain unbearable, yet Squalo had to get out. Unfortunately he hadn't even walked two meters – in his conditions, one can already call that a miracle – that he felt a presence near him. Who was that? He couldn't tell. It was different from the previous men he met… Maybe another famiglia? That wasn't totally impossible. Recently they were a lot of struggle in town. ¨People said they were fighting for a question of territory; some greenhorns were trying to steal the current famiglia's best "places": night clubs, brothels, casinos, even taverns and restaurants; they were starting to lose them all.  
'Jesus fucking Christ. I've only signed for some little stand-up fight with an old man, I wasn't supposed to get into some shitty fight between people I've never met in my life!"  
The silverette kept on walking, one hand on the knob of his sword, the other leaning on the wall in a last attempt of sustaining the rest of the body. He was panting. Even if blood was gushing like hell in his throat, it still felt damn dried out; it was painful even to breathe. But, Squalo thought, that was way better than having the next day on main cover title "corpse of an unknown boy found riddled with bullets"… Hell no! His pride wouldn't undergo that!  
So he was walking, pulling his worn out body forward at a snail's pace. Behind, the barks of the dogs had stopped, replaced by gunshots. Ah, he was right after all.  
"Yeah. Being right won't help me in anyway, right now, though…"  
'Not so fast, there!' all of a sudden someone shouted behind him. The young swordsman, as to apply to what had been said, looked back very, very slowly. He stared at the newcomer. Just a man. With a gun aiming at him. He was standing at more or less five meters from him – within reach – on a little mound of garbage. Like the Lion King of the garbage.  
'Voooi.' Squalo groaned. 'Can't you see I'm half-dead? What's the point of killing me anyway…'  
'Shut it, kid! Are you one of the Malvolio Famiglia? If you are, then…'  
Too late, Squalo would have loved to tell to him, as he swiftly crossed the space between the scout and him, then stuck his blade under his chin. He didn't have much strength left to keep a full-grown man immobilized, he just killed him.  
However the swordsman hadn't expected the other to let go of his gun's trigger. It had been loaded; the shot went off loudly.  
'Goddamnit.' Squalo cursed silently when he heard other people calling, few meters only from him.  
'Flavio, was that you?' Another man asked before appearing from nowhere. He was armed, Squalo noted. The man just watched rapidly at his friend lying in the mud, throat cut, and the teen with his blade still dirtied with his comrade's blood.  
Squalo didn't let him time to draw his gun.  
After that came many other men, but the silverette could swear it: those weren't from the Malvolio Famiglia. So logically it didn't make them Squalo's opponents. Ah well, if he hadn't already killed two of their buddies. It was pretty sure that Malvolio was on the agony since no one was running after him anymore. Instead he had that new group against him. Damn his unlucky, hot-blooded self.  
And indeed, coming they did, just like flies attracted by the scent of honey. There was no end to that.  
Nevertheless Squalo succeeded in pushing each one back. A funny way to see that is something like a game – a very, very gore one – a survival game with zombies or demons coming from Hell. But then game over would mean dying, and Squalo didn't want to die. Yet were those scums really weak or wasn't he that injured, he couldn't tell. No matter how many would come, Squalo easily defeated them; tensing his muscles and tightening his grip on his spade, he was ready to welcome even Satan himself.  
'Vooooi!' He screamed with his exhausted flesh and voice. A very neat tide of cadavers was spreading around him. 'If there's still any trash who wants to get killed, just fucking come here!'  
'Shut up, you damn noisy scum.' A voice from nowhere resounded, and in the same time something hard and huge made contact with Squalo's head. Hurtfully.  
'Huuuh?'  
The silver haired teen eyed furiously his surroundings, trying to find who in this godforsaken world dared provoke him like that. He found him. Lungs compressed and dilated orbs, he watched him coming his way: a man… No, a boy a bit taller than him, surely older too, tanned skin and spiky raven hair, was walking towards him, high and mightily, vigorous legs making large strides.  
The other teenage boy was wearing casual clothes – black jeans and white shirt – the only weird thing on him was red feathers dangling on his neck. Seeing them, Squalo nearly shouted "This ain't carnival, stupid." … He really wanted to do so, but the nasty look on the guy obviously discouraged him.  
His eyes (the youth could clearly see them, even with his anemia) his eyes were red. Bloody red. Just like Hell's fire – burning, scorching, crushing, unforgiving. Squalo had some trouble not to avert his own eyes from the stranger's. He followed the pattern of his body. The boy, contrary to him, was rather well-built. Broad and muscular chest, well-toned members, his entire presence awe-inspiring and remarkable… He was similar to a god of war, standing in the core of that corpse-covered battlefield. There was, beyond the barbaric aura he was emitting, a decadent sense of beauty in that deadly complexity…  
Oh holy fuck, did he really think that that guy was gorgeous? Squalo shook those weird thoughts from his mind.  
'V-vooi. Who the hell are you?'  
'That's my line, scum. What the fuck are you doing here?' The guy replied self-importantly. 'I don't remember letting kids join or side…'  
His arrogant voice lowered when he caught a glimpse of the pound of cadavers spreading at Squalo's feet. He frowned. 'Trash, was that you who did that?'  
Seeing that his performance somehow caught the raven's attention, the silverette grinned. 'Hell yeah, bastard. So you're a friend of these…' He showed one of the dead bodies with his injured arm. 'Too bad they're so fucking weak, yet taking one by one almost killed me.'  
The raven stared uncaringly at the scene before him and yawned.  
'Dumbass. You're just a shitty loud-mouthed brat.' The tanned boy then drew a pair of guns and, with a sign of with hand: 'Fucking come here.'  
…  
Goddamnit.  
"My name is Xanxus. Ya better remember it, scum, as it's the name of the man who'll end up your life, right here."  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
"I won't have to, you fucking bastard. The one's gonna die isn't me."  
Ah. Ah ah. Squalo laughed bitterly, vomiting blood and guts, his face in the shitty mud, sword since long thrown far, far away from him. From his position he could see nothing, feel nothing, only listening to the rumbling far above him in the sky. Raindrops started to fall on him.  
Just why the fuck was that guy so damn strong? His damaged brain managed to ponder. That was true, he was wounded, tired after hours and hours of fight, and yet… Only five minutes. He couldn't stand in front of Xanxus even for five minutes.  
'Holy shit…'  
But bizarrely it hadn't been enough to make him hate the man who defeated him. He sure was feeling a complexity of feelings, all swaying, bubbling, wriggling and troubling his brains; nevertheless Squalo was sure that in that uncontrolled storm there was absolutely no trace of hate for the raven.  
Who was Xanxus? The fuck did he know the answer. He was lying miserably on the ground, almost in his own shit, so damn easily defeated. And still Squalo couldn't hate Xanxus. Or was he too anemic to have resentment against anyone at the moment.  
His breath was low, so was his pulse, but he still was alive. Head plunged in dirt, clothes in rags and body unable to move, but he still was alive. The silverette heard the raven burst in laughs above him.  
'Ah ah ah! You scumy trash. How can a brat like you even think of touching me?'  
Well… Who knows. Squalo was pretty sure that even in his normal state, the result would have been the same. Was he that weak? No… Or maybe yes, but not as much… For God's sake, how many had he killed to survive until then… Nonetheless, Xanxus, in only one blow…  
The older boy kicked the younger's body. The latter whined. How pathetic.  
'Trash, I'm talking to you. Get the fuck up. Shooting a motionless target is fucking boring.'  
Another kick.  
Getting up, Squalo would have loved to do so, even if that meant getting shot to death; anyway that was better that sprawling in the sludge. "Voi, Xanxus" He wanted to say "don't blame me for the shit you've done."  
Maybe because of irritation, maybe because of hellish enjoyment, Xanxus crouched and yanked at Squalo's dirty hair. The smaller boy finally got his face separated from the ground, but instead to get stuck in front of the raven's wicked one. And his devilish smile. Fucking sadistic bastard. Squalo just looked calmly at him, just the way he would look at him for the rest of his life.  
'Trash. You're weak.' Xanxus hissed.  
With his last strengths, the swordsman grinned at him.  
'So what if I am? If you keep me with you, I'll become stronger for you.'  
Xanxus' smirk dropped, replaced by an angry glare. He then looked intently at Squalo, perhaps wondering if the latter's words were only a result of having his head punched many times. The silverette could almost see the cogs behind his forehead,  
'What did you say?'  
Squalo slowly brought his not-so-damaged hand to the back of his head. Xanxus' grip on him was at any rate painful.  
'Voi, don't make me say it twice.' Cough. More blood poured from his mouth. 'You fucking bastard… Let me stay by your side.'  
Why did I say that, Squalo asked himself. A desperate attempt to stay alive? His reason whispered. Or rather a desperate attempt to keep the raven's strength next to him? Pride pondered. There also was a little, disturbing murmur uttering something he would never admit in his entire life, but that voice he preferred hushing. Irrelevant thoughts.  
Xanxus' frown deepened, he smirked again before releasing Squalo's head. He then got up and walked away.  
'Fu. First try getting out of here alive, you piece of junk.'  
Xanxus left him.  
He left him, a wretched, drenched rag doll lying alone in the rain. He stayed like this for some time, from time to time conscience swinging dangerously from life to death.  
He could feel the coldness of the water on his feverish skin, dampening his dirtied clothes, washing away the blood stuck on his hair. Rain is always like that. It wasn't that bad, and it helped him clarifying his thoughts. They were in mess, indecipherable; only the raven's face would come back from quite repeatedly. For the nth time he tried to get up. No use. Crap and fucking frustrating.  
There was no regret remaining in his mind, nor for his defeat, neither for the words he had said.  
"Oh Lord" Squalo thought "Just release me from my physical pains. The rest I'm taking care of."  
…  
Bel was watching Squalo's bandaged hands slide swiftly on the gun's barrel. They seemed to hurt – there were blisters all over, yet the silverette didn't complain about. From where he was, lying down on his stomach on Dino's bed, the boy could see him clearly: sitting right on the ground, Squalo was cleaning the pieces of metal spreading on the desk. He had been doing that for hours now, Bel pondered. His movements were so methodic and monotonous that the boy had them already engraved in his head (after all he was a genius): ejecting the magazine, empting the chamber, removing all left ammunitions, stripping the gun and dismantle it safely, then scrub, wipe and polish the components until he could see his own face reflecting on the shiny side, and at last back to reassemble it.  
Bel's nose wrinkled. The bedroom was filled with a smell of solvent and oil.  
'Squalo… When are you done with all this? I want to play~' Bel half yawned, half whined while waving his legs up and down.  
'Voi. I told you not to wait for me.' The silver head grunted without removing his eyes from his task. 'I still have something to do after this. Go and play with Fran instead.'  
'Mm… Don't wanna.'  
Silence came back in the Cavallone's room.  
It wasn't that surprising to see the kids stay there. Whether it was Squalo's or Dino's room, both became a playground for Bel and Fran. It had always been a pleasure for the brothers to annoy the swordsman, but now they had a brand new toy to occupy themselves with, and that toy was called Dino Cavallone.  
It had been like that for some time. Just before Squalo's admission to hospital, one week ago.  
He had told nothing about it. When they came to see him there, the silver head only welcomed them with a "Voi" followed with a groan of pain; but of explanation, nothing. He just laughed at Dino's teary eyes, shouted at a derisive remark from Fran and asked if anyone had asked for him before them. Bel thought it was weird: did he wait for a visitor? As far as he knew Squalo had no friends apart from the trio. Strangely, the idea of being unaware of a part of the shark's life provoked some kind of irritation in him. And just what the hell did he do to get shoot down? He uses sword! And moreover he wasn't that weak to get shot like that… Or at least that wouldn't be serious enough for him to have to go to the hospital.  
'They say it isn't something to worry about. Those blockheads. I want to see them with a bullet in their guts.'  
'Squalo… I was so worried…' Dino almost cried. 'Just how did you end here? If someone from the family hadn't recognize you when they brought you here…'  
'Voooi stop whining like a puppy. I'm the one injured, not you!'  
'It's still strange…' Bel muttered more to himself than to be heard by the others. 'I know you were looking for that… Er… that I-don't-remember-his-name guy. Did things go wrong? I heard there're ructions in the South district because of a new gang… You've been there yesterday, haven't you? Something happened with them?'  
No answer.  
But that silence wasn't one of anger, a smarts like Bel could tell this… That was nervousness? The fair haired boy almost laughed. A bitter laugh. What the hell? For what goddamn reason would that swordsman guy be nervous or hesitant about anything? It was getting on his nerves.  
Back in the Cavallone's bedroom.  
'Vooooi. Why the fuck are you so quiet?' Squalo suddenly shouted from his seat. 'What are you thinking about? It's creepy to see you like this, so stop it already.'  
Bel heaved a sigh. That's right. He could clearly distinguish whether Bel was actually sleeping or only keeping quiet, the bangs on his eyes making it almost impossible to see his real expression. For that, he will never be able to deceive the silverette.  
'Shishishi. Just daydreaming. Hey, Squalo, why are you doing that? Do you wanna play cowboys and red Indians with us?'  
'Huuh? Why do I have to tell you?'  
''Cause I have spare time…'  
'Voi, that isn't a reason at all!'  
'Yes it is.'  
'Voooi! it's not! Quit on annoying me!'  
'So why?'  
'You won't give up on it, will you?'  
'Nope.'  
It was Squalo's turn to sigh, deeply.  
'It has nothing to do with you, quit on always interfering in what I'm doing.'  
A sting in Bel's guts.  
'Oh so?'  
With an invisible frown, the boy got up and walked to the door, but then stopped, one hand on the knob, and pointed at the gun Squalo was handling.  
'Double action semi-automatic pistol, 9mm Parabellum, Taurus PT-92.' The fair head sang. 'Habitually known as the Beretta of the poor. That's lame from you, but I guess it's appropriate for peasants.'  
'Shut. Up!'  
Bel slammed the door when he got out.  
He couldn't understand why Squalo was acting that weird. Since he got out from the hospital, it was as if something was bothering him. Of course he'd never tell what… And that was that silence which upset Belphegor so much. Squalo, that loud-mouthed guy, the only friend he had in his life, was hiding something from him… Just like his mother, months ago.  
He didn't like that trail of thought. It took him ten minutes to notice that he was already outside the house, and also that night had already fallen on the city. He hesitated on what to do next. Going back home? He would only find Fran watching TV while eating candies. Getting back in that room? He didn't want to face Squalo at the moment, not with that bitterness on his tongue. Bel began playing with his tiara. It was glistening oddly in the neon light.  
Little kids shouldn't play outside when night has come. Good little kids should go to sleep after brushing their teeth and kiss their mom. Because if they're still staying out even if they're told not to do so, then they'll find wolves. Wolves are scary, they have sharp fangs and claws, their deadly eyes are shimmering dangerously, aiming at you, ready to eat you alive…  
'Brat.' A voice from the deep, deep darkness called at Belphegor. 'You know the famiglia in this house?'  
Wolves like this one.  
Bel looked for where the male voice did come from. There, in the middle of the night, he saw a little red light, like from a cigarette's, right under a street lamp.  
'And what if I know?' Bel dared at the unseen stranger. 'My mother always told me not to talk to strangers in the streets.' The face of the shark scolding at him made Bel grin.  
The fag-end fell down, straightaway stubbed out by a heavy boot. The man then came into the light, an annoyed look on his tanned face. In that livid light, the raven's features were much more intimidating. He was taller than Bel (three or four heads higher), more muscular, and armed. His eyes were red, like blood, fire, lava, blazing with wrath and in the same time dull, as if they were veiled by an unknown corruption. The fair haired boy instinctively sensed he wasn't someone on whom's nerves one could get without getting hurt – very badly hurt. That impression was confirmed with the next words the raven said.  
'Fucking brat, I'm not kidding with your shitty ass.' Xanxus menaced in a low grunt. 'Whether you tell me what I want to know, whether I'll get your guts ripped out right here.'  
Belphegor stared at him absentmindedly. The "brat" wasn't one easily shocked by threats, far from it. He tilted his head and kept on staring at Xanxus, staring, staring, his brains cell chaining up the conclusions.  
'Are you here to see Squalo?' He asked with a detached air. 'You should have said if from the start. But… Is it okay for you to come in? Your face won't go unnoticed.'  
'Che. Feccia.' Xanxus was almost glowing with darkness, if that was possible. The man was certainly the worst encounter anyone could make in the night. Well, actually, at any time of the day. 'Don't fucking expect too much of your luck.'  
'Uuuh-oh. Happily I'm not suicidal enough to kick up my heels with someone like you.' Bel pirouetted lightheartedly then saluted with a bow. 'Shall I call the princess for you?'  
…  
Squalo was assembling the last parts of the Glock. He had done that so many times that his hands were almost grinding with tiredness.  
Why was he already doing that? Squalo couldn't quite remember. He was a swordsman after all; using firearms wasn't for him…  
Ka-chak.  
Finally done. He sighed with relief and looked at the mess on the desk: Makarovs, Colts, Brownings, Steyrs, Hecklers and the national beloved Beretta… Squalo frowned. He didn't like guns' structure at all: they're heavy, smell of fire and oil, and need no particular physical endurance to be used. Swords are different: you face your opponent, you put your life in danger to cut someone else's…  
Damn Mafiosi obsessed with their fucking guns. Just why the fuck do they have to lug around such shits? He was already lucky to find a real arsenal next door (Dino, of course, was utterly against all this). If only everyone started to use swords instead of them… But then the image of a world filled with fencers pacing peaceful in the streets – just like in Middle Age – popped in his mind.  
'Pfft… Bwahahaha! That would be great! We only need horses to complete the scene, and that'd be great! Hahaha!'  
He laughed so loud that he almost couldn't take notice of the knocking on the door.  
'Voooi, what? Just come in already!' He yelled.  
'Shishishi. I'd rather not.' Bel's muffled voice resounded from outside. 'Seeing your ugly face distorted in laughter sure is freaking. Squalo, you biiiiig idiot.'  
'Vo-… You fucking brat I'll kill you!'  
He jumped from the desk and ran to the door, but when he opened it, there was nobody outside. Squalo could however hear Bel's light steps on the carpet. He pursued the kid in the stairs, jostling people in his way. He only lost track of the blond head once outside.  
'Voooi, you goddamn brat, fucking come here so that I can kick your sorry ass!' He vociferated like a rabid dog, oblivious to the guiltless citizens sleeping serenely (if they're trying to do so) in their bed. 'Bel you damn brat, get out, I sai- Mmph!'  
And the angels in the heavens all together with the sinners on Earth surely blessed the man who got the shark to quiet down. Squalo was struggling vehemently, cursing under the hand flattened on his mouth, and trying to bite and kick whoever was pulling him from behind.  
'Mm… Pff.. Ku- Fuck- Gah!'  
He breathed heavily when his aggressor finally let go of him. They were in a dark alley just next Dino's house.  
'Don't start a ruckus in the middle of the night, you stupid piece of trash.' Xanxus demanded. Squalo immediately turned back when he recalled of that husky voice. He beamed.  
'Xanxus!... What the fuck are you doing here? Don't say… You looking for me?'  
This time a kick in his stomach made the shark shut up.  
'Fuck.'  
Squalo crouched while holding tightly his belly in his arms. Xanxus lit another cigarette and brought it lazily to his lips. He leaned on the wall behind him, dark eyes glaring cynically at the shark. He looked as if he was pretty enjoying himself: Squalo coughing, cursing between two coughs, and rubbing painfully at his head (he had tried to get up but slipped in a puddle of dirty water and knocked on the ground). Finally back on his feet, Squalo looked angrily at his persecutor, his eyes still teary from the coughing.  
'Voi… Why the fuck are you here? And how did you find that place?' The questions hadn't been as cheerful as the first.  
'Is that something to say to your new owner?' Xanxus smirked. 'You really look like shit.'  
'Shut up! It's your fault! I don't even know why I'm here… Oh, that's right! That damn brat-'  
' "I'll become stronger for you"… is that even something a man would say.' He puffed a greyish smoke to the silverette, as if he wanted to create some sort of unsubstantial wall between them.  
'Fuck off. Something I said once, I won't take it back.' Squalo grinned, showing for the first time his shark-like teeth to his boss.  
'Humph. Scum. It sounds like the usual bullshit I hear from the butt lickers surrounding me.'  
The swordsman frowned. Did that dumbass doubt about his word? He, Superbi Squalo? His pride wouldn't tolerate that!  
'Voooi! You're only a spoiled brat' He sneered wickedly. What? Did he want him to kneel down and beg for his amity? Did he have to sell himself to that asshole? 'If you really have such dorks surrounding you, what about having me instead?'  
Xanxus stared and burst in laughter; Squalo jawslacked and blushed. 'Voi! That's not what I meant! Stop laughing, damnit!'  
'Ha! Anyway' The raven resumed. 'Be sure to never get in my way in the future. Next time I won't go that easy on you, I'll rip that trashy face of yours until even your mother won't recognize you.'  
'Che. Psycho guy. Did you come here to say this? That's fucking excessively polite. Does the king have another order?'  
The raven glowered at the impudent shark. Gosh, he really couldn't stand teasers, he was the kind of dudes that would bawl and swear during ads.  
'Motherfucking trash.' He threw away a half consumed stick and smirked. Or perhaps he was smiling; with his dissolute features Squalo couldn't say. 'Battezzato figlio di puttana.'  
Xanxus finally unstuck himself from the wall and paced unhurriedly to the other side of the lane. Squalo watched his back moving away, slowly but surely, from him. From behind his back looked broader, more mature and phlegmatic than the guy himself. His gait was heavy but confident and swollen with pride. Seeing him like this, even a complete outsider could guess that nothing would ever hinder that man, that Boss' way. The silver haired teenage was that outsider.  
That back was attracting him, alluring him, promising God only knows which shiny Heavens or burning Hell. It was a personification of strength, a god-like strength, so imposing that it seemed it could crush the swordsman beneath. It was violating his peripheral vision, impeding his breath, needling his curiosity…Passions have that injustice and that self interest which make it dangerous to follow them, and which should be distrust, as sensible as they may seem.  
But as to Squalo that wasn't even a question of passion or infatuation: Squalo was mesmerized.  
…  
"Next time…" Bel muttered. The sound of the traffic lights was resounding in his ears. It was annoying.  
"What 'Next time' ?" Squalo looked at him curiously.  
"Next time… let's go on a date…"

There was no one in the room.  
The bed, where have always been a lot of useless things – clothes, books, toys and sometimes rest of the food – was perfectly made. Not even one crease on the sheet, and the immense stack of pillows finally subdued.  
Bel adjusted his tiara, then started triturating his bangs. They've grown longer again, he thought. But he didn't like to cut them, so the fair haired boy let them as they were.  
"Stupid window." He whispered. "Why has he never bought curtains for it?"  
That was right. It could be very bothersome at night, when the street light was lit up. But strangely, Bel got used to that light pollution. He even found it hard to sleep at night without that wan light coming from the window.  
He grinned and pirouetted in the middle of the bedroom with knives suddenly in his hands. He wanted to scream out loud, to laugh loudly, to throw everything out, kick the rest of memory he had of his childhood out on the cobblestones. Yes, Bel would have loved to do that, but instead he bit his tongue.  
"Che. It doesn't worth it." He said loudly. "Squalo is just an idiot. A big, biiiig idiot."  
Bel twirled faster, faster, until his vision got blurred and he got nauseous. He let himself fall. His back hit rather harshly the floor, but it didn't seem to hurt him at all. On the contrary he began laughing, laughing like a madman, so much that he got a stich in his side. It didn't make him stop.  
"Shishishishi!" He was practically rolling on the ground.  
In the end, everyone was leaving him alone. A father, he never had one. A mother, he once had one, but now he didn't even know if she was still alive.  
"Shishishi! Maybe she shot herself through her brainless head. That woman actually could have done that."  
And now Squalo.  
How many years did they knew each other?... Four years, he calculated. Finally, something had to be really wrong with him if the shark couldn't stand being with him more than that.  
The young boy remembered in a flash the bright, shiny, silvery hair glimmering in the sunset when they met for the first time… He grinned while thinking about the first words he hears from Squalo:  
" 'I'm Superbi Squalo, son of no one, and the guy who's going to kick your sorry asses off, trashes.' " Bel recited and laughed. That sentence, he'd heard it over and over again,whirling in his mind. He could understand that it wasn't equaling the best quote in the worst western film, but it had been kind of fun. It had always been fun to live with the silverette. Kind of.  
Bel hated that room. When he really thought about it, he realized he really hated Squalo's bedroom. At first, when he first slept in, because it was too much different from his first bedroom. Now that Squalo was gone, because it looked too similar to the place where they've been living for years with the swordsman-to-be teenager. Oh, correction. Squalo is a swordsman now, and people always think about it twice before looking for trouble with him.  
"Ah. Where did I put the keys already?" He almost forgot: he had to give the bedroom keys to the landlord – or landlady, he didn't know how to call the transvestite and he didn't want to know.  
"Are you looking for this? It was lying around in the stairs. " Fran's voice rose behind him. The green haired boy was at the door, holding a keyset. "What a responsible genius we have here. He isn't even able to keep an eye on his house's keys."  
Bel threw his knives to his brother, who more or less easily dodged them all, then sat up. "Tsk. Really, what's the point of having so much keys? There're almost twenty and we only need one."  
Fran didn't say anything and sat down on the bed. It creaked under his weight. Back then, it wouldn't even give the slightest sound, Bel thought.  
"Huh. Senseless, pointless. We too are leaving, so why thinking about that…"  
"Do we really have to leave?" Fran asked. "I like this place."  
"You liked our first house, too…" Bel went back lying on the ground. Suddenly his grin stretched, sarcastically. "Shishi. Hey, if you like this shitty place this much, why don't we carve precious memories of it for ourselves? I mean with all the useless trash in here, we can make a great bonfire. What do you think of it?"  
Fran eyed at his psycho brother a fraction of second before answering. "I don't want it. The landlady won't give me her homemade cookies again… And you'd be the first one to cry after this. And do you know what? Your face when you're crying is far more creepier than your usual stupid one."  
But Bel wasn't listening to him. He rolled on himself and muttered indistinct words. "…That's so meaningless. Won't say that. But if… And tomorrow's the same. 7 o'clock. 8 o'clock or 9? No, he'll be on time… And a bag. Gloves. No, no glasses… A quiet place. No, crowd. Plus sunlight…"  
The younger brother wasn't surprised of what he was witnessing. After all, Bel was a prodigy, he had his own way of thinking, he understood that. But in the same time, he knew his brother could have aberrations, from time to time. They became more frequent as he grew up, and sometimes they were so intense he could end up crying for no reason. Strangers didn't understand and would always be frightened by it.  
When Squalo first saw one, he did say nothing and just waited for the fit to settle by itself. He always did.  
"Okay, I'll wait for you outside. Don't eat your knives by mistake." Fran got up and went out. "Aaa. I hope I won't have to call for an exorcism."

As a matter of fact, Bel wasn't delirious at all. He'd just been thinking aloud, and the trail of his thoughts lead him to wait at the station since four in the morning.  
The place was quiet, almost gloomy. The sunrise wouldn't come before at least one hour. Bel was standing on a footbridge no one was using yet, and looked at the platform beneath. Rail workers were busying themselves, loading and unloading packets and luggages, filling tanks or guiding the trains on the rails.  
It was boring. Very boring. The fair haired boy spent the last hour reading at the trains schedule, listening to the speakers, and counting how many people he could spot from the bridge. He knew they would be there soon. Very soon, but with absolutely no clue, Belphegor had no choice but coming early. From time to time he would glance at the automatic baggage checkroom. Of course there would be no one at that hour.  
The boy sighed and brought his arms behind his head. He was cold and was bored! When the hell were those peasants coming?  
"Oooh. Look who's there." Bel sneered when he saw a man fully dressed in black leaving a briefcase in the checkroom. The man rapidly left, after watching carefully at his surroundings. "You can go wherever you want. I'm not here for you. Now where…"  
Six o'clock. There were more people on the platform, at the station buffet and sitting on benches under the station roof. But the boy wasn't worried. He knew he would come, even if they hadn't met for half a year, he had to come and take the case. Bel wasn't a genius for nothing. Ten minutes later:  
"He's here, he's here. Now leeet's goooo." The fair haired whirled and went down the bridge, his arms still behind his head.  
Since the station was more crowded it was a bit difficult to walk freely. That kind of problem never bothered Bel. He just started striding in the crowd, his feet practically kicking the air in front of him, with the result that no one dared nearing him. Sometimes people or pylons would bar his way, and so Bel lost sight of his target, but not that long. Silver hairs never go unnoticed very long.  
The fair haired boy hadn't seen some for months, apart from on old people, but never as bright and soft as the swordsman's. He disappeared overnight. He didn't warn anyone, didn't give a call, nothing.  
"Like mom." Fran said platonically.  
Not like that woman, Bel replied. Squalo wasn't like that woman. That was his inflexible belief, or what he wanted to believe.  
Bel was getting closer, the silver mane more and more within his reach. Was it his imagination or had it really grown longer? Because it didn't look as spiky as before. No, it was falling graciously on his shoulders, each step making the shiny locks wave in unison. Squalo was taller, too, but basically his body kept the same shape as in his teenage years: slender, skinny, narrow shoulders and hips… The main difference was the dark clothing.  
"You look like an undertaker." Bel suddenly called out. It made the silverette stop and turn back. "What's in that case?"  
Surprised was an euphemism. That kid, no matter what, always succeeded in doing things that impressed the swordsman, like now, by finding him in another town's station. Squalo stared at the blonde for some time before smirking mockingly at him. "Voi. A brat like you has nothing to do with that."  
His eyes. They were a lot more sharper, more mature, and more vicious. In conclusion the young swordsman was mostly the same, but with something different in the core on the inside, and with a better, upgraded package on the outside."And what are you doing here at this time? Are you lost?"  
"I can ask you the same thing." Bel put in hands in his pockets. Now he was in front of the silver haired youth, he was feeling weird. It was like talking to someone else, someone he hadn't known for years. His appearance changed, that was a fact, but that wasn't all.  
It was awkward to talk to a Squalo he knew hadn't lived the same life as him for the last six months. That's stupid, but that's like that. He couldn't help but feel a little gauche in front of that "another" Squalo. Bel wasn't aware of what the silverette had seen and went through. That was bizarre, and the swordsman's new look clearly reminded him that.  
Damn, his mind was running wild, words got stuck in his throat. He wasn't angry with Squalo, and yet he was. He felt he wanted things to go back to what they've always been with him, and yet he knew it wasn't that easy…  
A train passed rapidly with a hellish noise. Behind it, the sun was slowly raising. The noise was deafening and the light dazzling. Maybe it was because of that, maybe there was too much conjectures to take into account. But the fact was that he didn't remark the silver haired teenager's hand ruffling his hair.  
"Don't think too much while I'm not there." Squalo stated the most naturally possible. "You'll grow old early."  
"Yeaah… I don't want my hair to go gray like yours after one year." The hand left the soft and blonde hair. "Where are you going?"  
"Somewhere… Well. See ya, brat."  
It had to end like spite of everything, things were different for them. Squalo smirked and turned back, ready to leave, when suddenly Bel grabbed at his free hand and pulled at him, forcing the silverette to bend down. "What… now…"  
The silver haired teen gawked as he felt the smaller kid kiss him very lightly on his cheek, so lightly it was almost imperceptible. Bel's expression was indiscernible behind his thick bangs.  
"Next time…"  
"What, 'Next time' ?"  
"Next time… let's go on a date…"  
The kid was waiting for a burst of laughs, a "Are you going crazy?", a punch in the eye, even seeing the shark-like boy leaving him without saying anything. But actually he didn't see the grin coming, and the answer:  
"That'd be fun, kiddo."  
Squalo patted the blonde on his cheek with a leather gloved hand, the smirk still stretching his thin lips.

The silverette was gone for nearly five minutes, but Bel didn't move from his place on the platform. He was triturating his hair again, and oddly he felt his face getting warmer.  
That idiot Squalo was very handsome, he pondered.  
…  
Squalo was trotting insouciantly in a silent, cobblestones street. It was a disreputable area of the city. In dark alleys, mixed smells of murders and prostitution were awfully reeking in the silverette's nose. Gambling houses were blossoming at each corner of the streets. Every time he would walk in front of one, he could hear the drunkards' greasy laughs and their irritating and never-ending drunken songs.  
"Low-life scums." Squalo grimaced and went his way.  
He arrived in front of an old building, swiftly climbed the few stairs that separated him from the entrance, and ringed at the doorbell. Five minutes passed by before he could hear heavy footsteps from behind the wooden door. It half opened.  
"Shitty kiddo. What're ya doing here?" A masculine voice resounded in the dark.  
"Voooi, use your motherfucking eyes, you shithead." Squalo pointed at his own face. "Or is your lame brain unable to process more than one thing per hour?"  
"Damn brat."The other male behind the door grunted then let Squalo in.  
"Old geezer." The latter humph-ed.  
The shady, square room he got into was like all common taverns: a strong smell of alcohol, the usual chattering of glasses, chips, and the mumbling, all together with some cheap background music. Just a little less filthy than the previous ones. Game tables were scattered almost everywhere in the smoky space. They were all occupied by addicted players or mere amateurs. Those who weren't playing poker or bridge were, whether amusing themselves near the billiard tables or drinking at the bar, at the opposite wall from him.  
The silver haired teenager scrutinized the crowd, slightly raising on his toes to look over it. He however couldn't spot at the one he was looking for.  
"Good evening, Squalo." The bartender greeted him. "Long time no see. How have you been?"  
"Oh, Gamma." The youth walked to the counter. "Just wandering here and there. Lot of things to take care of."  
"Is that one of them?" Gamma pointed at the briefcase Squalo was holding before suddenly waving his hand. "No. Don't answer. I'd rather stay out of your crappy stories. Are you looking for Xanxus? He's upstairs. Better properly knock the door before coming in."  
"I know that already!" Squalo hissed and left the counter. He was fed up of having everyone treating him like a child. He just turned 17, damn it! Could a child do everything he had done that month?  
While climbing the stairs covered with a red carpet, he smirked proudly, the image of his multiple achievements displaying in his head. Of course, he was delighted. Everything they expected went out smoothly. He accomplished perfectly every mission he had been assigned to. He had been useful to Xanxus. And any trash that had been standing on his way, he cut them to pieces, gloriously, superbly.  
His heartbeat sped up. Squalo was truly impatient to report the last job's results to his Boss. So impatient he actually forgot to knock on the door.  
"Voi! Boss, I'm ba-Ack!"  
The silverette's cheeks went dark red when he saw the raven sitting on his couch with two women "amusing" him, in a very professional way. Squalo, fortunately, got out of his Boss' room fast enough to avoid the glass of whisky directed to his head.  
Crash.  
The silver head heard the wineglass breaking against the door.  
"Shit." A cuss came from his lips. He, more than anyone else, should have known Xanxus' worse-than-depraved life. Okay, they had known each other only for months, but when someone's routine only evolves around drinking, killing and fucking, most of time you only need one or two weeks to know them completely. It wasn't as if Xanxus was the most complex case of psychoanalysis.  
Squalo heard giggling from the raven's room, giggling and moaning and Xanxus' name whispered voluptuously. "Shit." He cursed again.  
No wonder why people still considered him as a kid. That reaction had just been puerile, lame, and just… Shit! Why did his face have to warm up like that? And why weren't they over yet? He was sick and tired listening to the girlish cackling!  
He had been sitting on the landing for half an hour, when finally a pair of whores got out from the Boss' apartment. They watched him curiously, surely asking themselves what a boy like Squalo was doing in that place, and went down, leaving behind them a disgusting scent of cheap perfume. Once they disappeared from his landscape, the silverette rapidly got up and strode to the open door, his mouth wide open to complain about his stupid Boss and the time said stupid Boss made him lose… In any case, those complaints remained in the state of thoughts, since the first thing that had welcomed the silver haired swordsman as soon as he stepped in Xanxus' den was another glass, this time filled with Brandy.  
Crash. Again.  
"Voooi… Xanxus, you motherfucking bastard!" Squalo yelled whilst rubbing at his eyes, half blind by the liquor pouring on his hair and face. "Why the fuck… Hurts… Do you always have to… Fuck! It's in my eyes!"  
"Get to the point or go to hell, trash." Xanxus stated. He poured Brandy in another glass.  
"Fuck you!" Squalo threw the case at his Boss' feet. The latter casually rested his heels on it. "Oh, please, no need for a 'thank you'. It's been a pleasure to have myself stuck for days in the entire country's gutters to trail those goddamn baits. Maybe, next time, can you give me a job more disgusting and more annoying than this? I already miss the mud and the dirt and the cold. But you know what I missed the most? That's that burning sensation in my eyes every time I cross this fucking door…"  
Xanxus glared at the silverette. The meaning was simple: shut up or you're dead meat. That look never boded anything good, for anyone. In fact, most of people who actually had seen it weren't there anymore to testify the consequences of it.  
Squalo, however, was, in living memory, the only one who indeed saw it and still was standing, safe and sound, on his feet.  
"… Che. I'm tired." He finally said while wiping himself with a tissue. Even all the excitement he felt before talking to the raven disappeared. "I'm going to sleep."  
And without further ado, he groped about toward the armchair he recalled was next to the couch. As a matter of fact, Squalo still was half blind because of the Brandy, but he knew Xanxus' apartment for coming there so often, almost everyday, for the last months. The silverette could flawlessly picture the high and wooden ceiling, the dark and thick curtains covering the unique bay-window. Even without seeing them, he could say how many meters from him Xanxus' king-sized bed was, and also the spacious bathroom and the mahogany desk, the last one always remaining vacant when Squalo wasn't there to use it for work.  
The swordsman recalled every little detail in the raven's room, as a result that it was a trivial matter for him to walk eyes closed to reach the armchair. He slumped lazily on it, kicking his shoes off on an expensive carpet, and got himself comfortable in the numerous cushions.  
The dark haired boy watched him invading his personal space without raising an eyebrow. It wasn't the first time Squalo was doing so, yet, even the first time, Xanxus hadn't said anything. To tell the truth, the silverette invited himself so nonchalantly in his apartment that now it was a totally natural fact to see him sleeping in his cushions, using his bathroom or throwing his dirtied boots on his 5.000$ carpet.  
If the raven had to give a reason to that unusual circumstance, then he'd simply put the blame on this: that face he was making when he was asleep, the childish, slobbering face of the younger boy, framed by soft and shiny hair, like the aureole drawn around a holy figure.  
With the adrenaline from his mission at last settling down, tiredness was quickly overwhelming his entire body. No matter what Squalo would bark and curse, his whole body was, physically, closer to a child's than an adult's. He had killed, he had sinned, certainly less than the Mafia boss, but he still had. However, none of his sins, his wickedness and his hellish temper could be found on his sleeping face.  
The young features were impeccably serene. Squalo was crouching in the armchair, squatting in a fetus position, his thin arms unconsciously locking around one of the silken cushions. His breath was light, his skinny chest heaving up and down, slowly, sorrowfully. At that moment, Xanxus thought how much it would have been easy for him to pierce the swordsman's ribcage and then squash his heart with only one hand, right after feeling the last thumping of it, one second earlier.  
Was he crazy? Personally, the raven didn't sense anything wrong with him. That didn't change the fact that seeing the silver haired boy sleeping so carelessly next to him was irritating him. He wanted to grip hard at the frail neck and twist it between his fingers. He wanted to see the greyish eyes filling up with tears, the rosy lips torn by a silent scream of agony. He wanted to rip the silver mane that made the other boy look like an angel when everything around him was nothing but darkness, dirty, filthy, repulsive darkness…  
When he emerged from his violent thoughts, he was standing right in front of the sleeping boy, one hand on the latter's throat. The silverette, unconscious of the death aura – or perhaps he was simply that sort of guy who can blindly trust people he liked – still sound asleep.  
Xanxus' eyes widened when, although his deadly hand still was on his throat, Squalo smiled in his sleep. He was smiling stupidly, really stupidly, as if he was dreaming about a herd of pink hippos, or stuff like that.  
It was so stupid it was almost endearing.  
Xanxus passed his hand on the smooth pinky skin, brushed his rough fingers against Squalo's cheek, lightly, very lightly not to wake him up, and stroked at the soft were shimmering under the moonlight, giving the silver head's face more mystery (a mystery that would die the second he'd wake up, though). His lips trembled. He was mumbling something. The raven lowered his head to listen to what the swordsman was talking about. He leaned down until his cheek brushed against Squalo's.  
"…My nose is green, I tell you, fucktard…" He muttered.  
That somewhat killed the charm of the moment.

Morning came.  
Squalo had been the first one to wake up, as usual. When he finally woke up, Xanxus, with all the whisky and Brandy he gulped down last night, looked more like a zombie than anything else. If he hadn't slept all dressed up, then the swordsman would have had a pretty annoying moment dressing him and making him look as much as possible like a human being. He had already had to do that in the past, after a rather wild night party.  
But that day was different. Even someone as uncaring as Xanxus could understand it. That day, they were meeting with the other Mafia families' heads.  
…  
The gathering was held on a neutral ground, in the middle of the town, in a flashy building, so none of them would dare using flagrant violence against the others. Everything had been arranged months before between the families. Meeting like that would happen from time to time, to re-equilibrate the power between the rival groups, to define each one's area and to keep watch over the respect of the ancient laws.  
That was the onorata societa.  
Nonetheless, that day's issue was quite different from the usual ones: last months, a man, a Mafioso actually broke the rules and shamelessly attacked his fellows, disturbing the fragile equilibrium between the families. That was the crucial matter they had to talk about. However, the man concerned was nowhere to be seen. Not because he hadn't been summoned at the meeting. No, he was just late.  
Tension was obvious in the meeting room. There were five capos, each one with their own consigliere, sitting or standing around a table placed right in the middle of the room. They had been waiting for one hour now. It was becoming really insulting.  
"Where is he?" A capo fumed. "Wasn't he supposed to be the reason why we're all gathered here today?"  
"Calm down, Corello." Another one stated. "It's pointless getting so upset for such a kid."  
"You can talk, voi!" The third thundered. "You aren't the one who got his brothers beaten to death by that kid!"  
"Just like Solarno said," The fourth added. "Let's wait. Corello and Langilla, you should sit down, both of you."  
"I'm sorry," Langilla shouted "but unlike Solarno and Rostelli, me and my men got serious damages! Hey, hey, Solarno! Can you believe that? He was fucking alone! A shitty brat with silver hair… Alone! We were almost fifty, all armed to the teeth, and that son of a bitch was alone! But we were the ones defeated! With only one blast, or whatever…"  
The capos silenced when the door burst open. A high and dark stature came into the room, his long legs slowly striding on the tiled floor, and followed by a silver haired teenager boy, a sword at his waist. The man then let himself slouch heavily on the first chair he saw. It was a good coincidence, since that chair had specially been reserved for him, for the guilty party.  
Without an ounce of civility, the dark man brought his feet on the table in front him, crossed his muscular arms and eyed threateningly at the other people in the room.  
"You're here at long length, Xanxus. It's been long since we last met, but you hadn't changed at all…" The last capo's deep voice raised. To this the raven answered with a yawn. The capo frowned. "Kid, behave yourself."  
"What's with that meaningless chitchatting, Costellano!" Langilla punched the table. "You can't reason with a man like him!"  
"Silence!" Costelanno commanded. "Xanxus, I think you already know why you're here today. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"  
"Humph. Bunch of old farts." Xanxus smirked. "This is useless."  
Face contorted with anger, Langilla was on the point of pulling his gun out. "Shut your goddamn mouth, you…"  
Squalo swiftly jumped on the table and was now menacing the capo with his unsheathed sword, right under his chin. The angry capo's consigliere also pulled his Beretta out, anticipating the threat.  
"Voooi! Shitty fucktard, wanna play trigger happy already?" He was grinning wickedly. "Bloody idiots. Maybe the piovra still can move her tentacles even when her head is cut, but I don't think you'll be able to do the same thing, huh?"  
Langilla and his right hand man sat down, crestfallen. The swordsman went down, too, and calm went back in the room.  
"Useless, you say?" Costellano resumed. "Do you mean that you understand the weight of your faults and that you're ready to repent for them? You acknowledge your deliberate attempt to steal Corello and Langilla's territories, your constant intrusion in Solarno's political affairs? You acknowledge you purposely harmed Rostelli's transactions and diverted the pizzo which should have been collected by his men?"  
Xanxus huffed again. His disdainful behaving was clearly starting to upset even the most peaceful capos.  
"Xanxus…" Rostelli spoke. "Don't misunderstand us. We're not putting up with your whims because we want to, but because we still have some respect toward your father. I heard that you and Timoteo have some troubles, a grudge that had burst out of the blue, and that because of that you've left home and are now living in some lousy apartment in the worst part of the city. Am I right?" Silence. Rostelli sighed. "Listen, Xanxus. We've all known you since you're a kid. We've seen you growing up. You're just like a son to us, and no one wants to hurt his own son." The raven grinned. "We won't say anything anymore if you quietly leave the town and never interfere with us. Ever. Do you understand your position, Xanxus?"  
The capo's tone wasn't fatherly anymore. His eyes were clearly notifying the raven he was risking his head now.  
"Old shit." The dark haired man leered. "Go fuck yourself."  
That was the last straw.  
The Mafioso near Xanxus, Solarno's consigliere, pulled his Caracal, but Squalo didn't even give him time to aim at Xanxus: swiftly twisting his wrist with one hand, he succeeded unloading the gun with the other while theconsigliere was still screaming in pain. Solarno was the next on the list. After the silverette threw away the Caracal's loader, he pushed the screaming lame-ass to his boss. The latter, an old Tokarev in his hands, was ready to shot at the swordsman, but instead he hit his own man.  
Right after that, just like a too well coordinated orchestra, the rest of the capos, together with their consiglieri, drew their guns out of their suits. Xanxus had his in his hands long before them. He targeted the Costellano team, the one closest to him. The scenery was on the brink of becoming one of a bloodshed.  
And then the deafening shots of guns.  
…  
It hadn't last half an hour. Maybe ten minutes. Or things happened so fast it seemed they only lasted ten minutes.  
"Voi. Xanxus?" Squalo asked in the softest way he knew. He was panting lightly.  
"What, trash?" The raven answered with a grunt. He couldn't avert his eyes from the red; the red on the walls, the red on the floor, the red on the table, the chairs… that red that should have been in the dead corpses lying on the ground. What he felt wasn't sadness, that wasn't happiness either. Actually, the closest word to what he felt at the moment was something like 'relief'. Yes, he was feeling relief when he saw the dead body of men who used to be his friends – or more exactly his father's friends – slowly emptying of the red, hot liquid.  
Like that the bounds had disappeared. Like that he was freed from the demons of his past.  
Xanxus remained quiet few seconds, his eyes still sticking on the blood stained room. The sensation of his hand being pulled by another one suddenly brought him back from his contemplation.  
He looked at him.  
He wasn't hurt; his clothes were only tainted with the others' blood. It wasn't only his clothes: his hair, his hands, his sword… Seeing Squalo like this, Xanxus suddenly remembered a stained-glass window in the church where they used to go every Sunday with his father. The representation of the angel who just overwhelmed the evil.  
Squalo was slowly kneeling in front of him, his hand still in his. The swordsman then placed a reverent kiss on the tanned skin, his eyes closed with respect.  
"Nel silenzio della notte e alla luce delle stelle e lo splendore della luna, Sei il mio capo." Squalo said, graciously, deferentially.  
Another bound was created.  
…  
"Sei mio capo."  
Squalo had meant every single word he said. For the teenager, there simply was nothing more beautiful than the sight of Xanxus standing like a god of war in that small room tainted by red. The red of the blood of his preys. The red of his wrathful eyes.  
He had Xanxus' hand in his. The corpses were starting to give an awful stench, yet the silverette didn't make the slightest move before the raven withdrew his hand and walked out. Sheathing his sword back in some kind of kraft paper, he followed him. It was only a matter of time before someone walked in the meeting room and found out what had been going on. Of course if that someone had been from the mafia, and that fact was inevitable, it wouldn't have really matter. On the other hand, that was what they really wanted. But if that person turned to be someone from the police, it would have been a little more troublesome.  
The Mafiosi left rapidly the hotel's corridor which was leading to the "crime scene". Taking the emergency stairs in order to avoid the curious stare of onlookers, they went down. On their way, Squalo picked up on the stairs a bag with clothes inside. Without slowing his pace, he threw a new shirt, a black jacket and a pair of sunglasses to his boss. There was also a smaller pullover for him to wear over his blood stained t-shirt, as well as a cap to hide his silvery mane.  
When they finally reached the ground floor, both boys looked as ordinary as the other hotel's customers; a common pair of sightseers, just like many others for the season. And it had been high time they left the building: as soon as they crossed the entrance, about twenty armed Mafiosi came out from black cars parked right in front of the hotel. Fortunately for them, the men couldn't spot them as they were completely hidden in the crowd.  
A car was waiting for them round the corner. It evidently wasn't the same car they used to come to the hotel. Regrettably for Xanxus, that day, he had to say farewell to his Bugatti, a bit too showy for the occasion.  
The swordsman threw his sword in the car then took place on the driver's seat. Xanxus sat next to him, on the passenger's seat, and crossed his arms.  
"Voi, Boss. What are we doing now?" Squalo asked as he switched on the ignition and watched at the uproar behind the car, reflected in the rear-view mirror.  
"Trash." The boss grunted. "I already told you we're going back to the apartment."  
"Hey, hey, Xanxus. This is the first place where they're going to look for us!"  
The raven glared at him. "So what, you lousy piece of scum? Are you scared?"  
He said that last word with an obvious scorn. Squalo frowned. For now, he wouldn't talk back to Xanxus. First, get out from that wasp's nest. As his boss ordered him, they went back to their "headquarter".  
…  
The first thing Squalo did when they were back in Xanxus' room was to ask if anyone had looked for them. Not yet, it seemed. He then began giving phone calls all over the country, and while doing so, scribbling some undecipherable notes in a notebook. The tone of his voice was strangely mature and composed; it had nothing to do with the usual childish and arrogant one. In spite of everything (and 'everything' includes his bad temper, his impatience and irascibility), the silverette turned out to be an excellent lieutenant and spokesman.  
From time to time, he would cast a glance at the street from behind the drawn curtains of the window. It was bad, he thought. From that angle, they were two easy targets for anyone in the opposite building and even in the street…  
"Yes. Let's do like that." He said whilst pacing up and down in the gigantic room, phone still in his hand and a devilish and menacing smirk on his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. And you better not slip away now. You already know what happens to traitors."  
The silver haired teen hung up just in time: a millisecond later he felt some blunt object crashing against his head.  
"Voooi, you fucking bastard!" He yelled, quickly losing the very mature and composed tone, and turned back to look at the raven slumping on his king-sized armchair. The only missing things to complete the scene were a crown and a scepter Squalo was actually disposed to give him. "Can't you see I'm on the phone? Don't bother me when I'm doing my job!"  
"You're too loud, stupid. I'm trying to sleep."  
That was right. Because the first thing Xanxus wanted to do when they were back was to sleep. He had to wake up too early that morning for that stupid gathering.  
"That's not a reason to throw shit at people's head!" The swordsman hissed. "If you want to sleep then sleep, goddamnit! I still have some work to do."  
Xanxus groaned but in the end fell asleep. The contrary would have surprised Squalo. Maybe apart from food, Xanxus wasn't a petite nature. Or at any rate, he was practically sure having him shouting in front of him wouldn't have hindered his sleep. In point of fact, that was happening all the time.  
Half an hour later – half an hour of phone calls and glancing through curtains and worrying – the silver haired boy was finally over. He put his phone down on the table and sighed. Apparently, they wouldn't have to undergo an attack within the next hours. That was understandable: no one was willing to attack them without a solid plan. They had just proved they weren't mere kids one could mess with unwisely.  
With the town's main famiglias out of race, the balance between the remaining small gangs had been smashed to pieces. And it was only a matter of weeks before all those trashes surrendered to them. The city could already be considered as Xanxus'. However, that hadn't never been the man's first priority, Squalo was perfectly aware of that. The raven was ambitious, greedy, insatiable. That kind of person will never get satisfaction with only a shitty town. A city? A country? A continent? Even the world, the silverette wasn't sure it could satisfy him. And all of that was depending on the next day's meeting.  
'Come to think of it,' Squalo pondered, 'I'm attending a lot of meetings lately, and that stupid Boss is doing absolutely nothing…'  
But back to their current state, that didn't mean he could let his guard down. Besides, it wasn't as if they could stay in that room forever. There were escape roads to plan, money to prepare, guns and munitions to store… The silverette could also foresee the long hours of insomnia he would have to endure.  
He looked back at Xanxus. At least, that one didn't have that kind of problem, Squalo thought sarcastically. He sat down, his eyes not once leaving the sleeping face of the tanned man. For one second, the image of that face only two inches from his crossed his mind, but he quickly brushed that thought away. Embarrassed, he looked down and vigorously rubbed his cheeks, noticing uncomfortably that they were slowly getting hot under his hands.  
No, that was becoming too awkward for him. He had to get out.  
Xanxus had never seen that pathetic side of the swordsman, and Squalo swore to God he would never let him witness it. Just for how long did those forbidden thoughts linger in him? Surely since the very first day he met the raven. Something really had to be wrong with him. Every time the urge of having Xanxus showing a different kind of attention rushed in him, the teenager boy would only ignore it and act as if everything was fine, denying himself and his feelings. Still that was only making things worse for the silverette.  
That day, for example, he pretexted a long patrol for his late coming back. Though the boss didn't ask him, in reality. It was weird, how much Squalo was ready to throw his life away for someone who maybe wouldn't even notice it at all. Well, if he hadn't been that cracked-up, it would certainly have been problematical; but since it wasn't the case, everything was fine. Everything was always fine for the swordsman.

The next day, someone came at their retreat, just as planned. In Xanxus' point of view, the guests were just a bunch of noisy scumbags, like a swarm of disgusting flies. In Squalo's point of view, they weren't worth better, but at least, they might be useful for Xanxus' ambitions.  
Sitting around the room, there were the representatives of the most powerful cartels, syndicates, mobs and gangs of that part of the continent. A real gathering of scum of the earth, a dangerous assembly of human-feeding beasts all packed up in the small tavern. They were all giving a sinister – even more ominous than ever – to the murky place. The raven wasn't actually doing anything else but leaning on the wall and glaring at the invaders from his usual armchair. Squalo was the only one negotiating and dealing with them.  
Yes, they crushed down the dreadful five capos. The dark haired boy was almost surprised why no one had succeeded doing that before. They had been so weak… It was as if they lived only for him to kill them and sacrifice their lives to his ambitions.  
"Voooi, so it's a deal." Squalo finally concluded, quite pleased. "We've served you this town on a golden plate. You only better not forget our agreement."  
Stupid shark. Did he really believe they were in position to ask anything from those monsters-like people? But even if Xanxus knew that diplomacy wasn't one of the other boy's strongest points, he had to admit the trash was doing pretty well. Even in front of centenarians bloodsuckers like the ones gathered in the smoky yavern, he didn't once lose his calm. Now, the raven was sure the silverette had always been meant for that side of the world. That is, the dark and filthy underground.  
He smirked. Squalo was tainted.  
"… Then we're through…" Squalo paused and looked at the entrance. The gorilla door-keeper was waving at him. Annoyed, the swordsman left the assembly and walked to the door. "What?" Xanxus could hear him shout. "I was on the middle of a fucking meeting, you…"  
Then nothing. But he didn't come back. The tanned man waited, but he didn't come back. Xanxus che-ed. What? Was he supposed to take care of those stupid guests now? Happily, it seemed he wasn't. Each one of them silently retired to a back door and, one by one, left the tavern.  
And the silverette still wasn't back. Anyway, if anything happened to him, he was old enough to take care of it alone.  
Xanxus went back to his room.  
…  
Squalo was looking daggers at a grinning fair haired boy who was standing in front of the building. It was already dark outside since the meeting had last almost six hours, but the swordsman could recognize that grin plus tiara anywhere.  
"What the fuck is that."  
"Shishishi. That's what I said, Mi~ster~ Squ~alo~." Bel bit at his lollipop and replied with his most malicious sneer while waving a half torn off ticket in his hand. "You know, it's quite easy to track down someone only with this. You dropped this at the…" The blonde moved just in time to avoid having the swordsman's blade slicing him in two. "Ooh! That was dangerous."  
"I'm asking you what the fuck are you fucking doing here!" Unease could be sensed in the silver head's voice. It wasn't the best moment to tease him or make him lose his patience.  
Belphegor somehow understood his apprehension. He was, after all, a genius. "This isn't a place where kids can come and play as they want." Squalo resumed. "And where did you leave Fra-… Vooooi!"  
Fran was there, too, with a ridiculous frog hat on his head. More exactly, he was standing in front of the entrance, staring blankly at the gorilla , a finger digging in his ear.  
"Eeeh. Is he a relative of yours, Squalo?" The boy asked dully. "You two really are alike."  
"You see?" The grinning boy widened his arms like a godlike savior. "I'm the eldest, so it's a normal fact that I have to take care of my little brother, even if he's a just ugly brat, as ugly as his bogeys."  
"Bel nii, are you saying that because I saw you picking your nose earlier?"  
Stab.  
"Che." He missed the boy, but it was a near thing. Indeed, if Bel became a pro in knives throwing, Fran, on his side, became a pro in avoiding things thrown at him. A survival issue.  
"Stop that already!" Squalo shouted and pulled both kids by the collars of their shirts. "I don't want to know why you're here for, just go back home! Right now!"  
"Aa-ah. That won't be possible." Bel freed himself by slipping out from his coat. "I've an important message to deliver."  
The swordsman let go of the frog. This time, he frowned seriously. "A message? For me?"  
"Yes… Or no. Not for you. It's a message for the scary, sca~ry man who's living with you."  
Bel emphasized on the words 'living with you', but Squalo didn't seem to get the implication. On the contrary, his expression darkened a little more.  
"Voi, trash. Say it or I swear I'll cut off your goddamn tongue."  
"Aa, Squalo's so scary~. Since I'm a magnanimous prince, I'm going to tell you. Listen…" The blond was whispering in the silverette's ear. "Not staying near the windows was a good decision. But you never know what can happen in the dark, so never leave his side for too long. Otherwise…"  
Squalo unconsciously stepped back. Horror was obvious on his features.  
"You… Who sent you here…" But he suddenly silenced and looked up at Xanxus' window. His eyes widened.  
Without losing one second he pushed the gorilla from the door and ran back inside. After reaching the staircase, he climbed the stairs four at a time.  
So that's why they hadn't done anything before! That's why they let them go so easily, that's why everything seemed to go so smoothly for them… They'd been waiting for that fucking meeting! They'd waited for an occasion to get in the tavern without drawing Squalo's attention, for example by mixing in a group of people the silver head had never seen before…  
Shit! That was so damn frustrating!  
The silver head barely laid a foot on the landing when suddenly the door leading to the Boss' apartment burst from the inside. The explosion had been so violent it practically blew the swordsman downstairs. To be more precise, Squalo rolled in the stairs and knocked himself many times and hurtfully on them before finally hitting his back with a wall .  
"Ga-ah!" He gasped painfully, his face sticking to the dusty floor. He didn't even notice he had lost consciousness and was lying on the ground, totally dead to the world.  
When he woke up, few minutes later, and even more panicked and anxious than before his fainting, the building was in fire. The entrance was blocked by an enormous mass of debris. Impossible to get out from there. The stairs were in a bad shape, too. But Xanxus was upstairs, wasn't he? God, if he really had been in that room at the moment of the explosion, then he was…  
No, that was impossible.  
Squalo examined his surroundings: everything that wasn't burning was whether a pile of fallen rocks, or furniture destroyed by the bomb. One second, the silverette asked himself if damages due to explosions were covered by insurance, but then remarked that wasn't how people naturally would think about in that kind of situation. Gas? No, he didn't smell it. Still staying there was dangerous. He had to move on.  
Squalo tried to stand up, but failed lamentably. His head was feeling so heavy… As if he had an anvil instead of a skull. He tried to bring his hand to the back of his head, only to find out his left hand – the hand he used for fencing – was totally out of service. Even trying to move his little finger was stirring up an atrocious pain all over his arm, enough to make tears of pain fill his eyes.  
Yet he had to get up and look for his Boss.

Squalo had to get up and look for his Boss. However, wherever he was looking at, all he could see was fire and decay. A real furnace. And his hand was hurting like nothing before. He remembered the hours and hours of training, the blisters that would always leave his hand ridged and rough at the touch, the mere sensation of holding tightly a sword in it...  
No, he had to get up. The silverette took support on the wall and braced himself.  
"Shit. Why did all of this happen… Shit." He cursed under his breath and looked right and left. Where did he have to start? Upstairs? The staircase was a no-no question. Call the firemen? They would arrive too late. No, he had to go by himself. "If I'm not wrong, there should be a fire escape behind the bar…"  
One step forward. Jesus, his body was screaming it didn't want to go further. His legs were quacking as if he was undergoing the worst episode possible of hypoglycemia. Damn! Wasn't he Superbi Squalo, the best fencer this planet had ever seen pacing on its surface? One explosion or two, that was nothing at all…  
Not even a hand put out of shape. That was nothing.  
After pushing back with the little strength remaining in his weak body all the debris getting in his way, leaving a trail of blood behind him, the young boy finally got to the back of the tavern. It was where the barman stored all the booze (and geez, booze there was, in an incalculable number of chests packed to the ceiling). It was only for God's mercy that the fire still hadn't reached that part of the building; otherwise the ground floor would have burst in fire since long.  
At last, the metallic spinning stairs. Squalo was almost creeping on the steps. The banister was burning the palm of his still valid hand, and the ambient air was so hot it was hard to see past one's nose.  
Why was he doing that, again? Squalo thought. Yes, the tanned one was upstairs, he was hurt, maybe, and, primarily, he was his fucking Boss. But on the other hand, Xanxus was a complete asshole, always bullying him, calling him names and leaving all the shitty works for him. That jerk.  
And in spite of everything… Squalo couldn't imagine his life without said jerk.  
"Xanxus!" He called when he reached what was left of the mezzanine. "Can you hear me?" Coughs. "Xanxus!"  
That gust of fervency was deadly cut by a fit of hack. The intoxicated air was slowly but surely filling his lungs. Squalo moved back a little and grasped the wooden handrail. That was when a timber fell from the ceiling. Squalo had barely the time to jump out of its way and dash in the corner of the corridor.  
"Gah!" He muffled a cry as his shoulder bumped on the wall. Another bruise, probably.  
The silver head went along the wall to where he supposed the door to Xanxus' apartment was. Yet, the surroundings were unrecognizable, and Squalo wasn't lucid enough to reason logically. He just started wandering, wobbly, in the wreckage of the first floor. His eyes were bulging, his clothes tatters and his hair an unstructured form on his head. He looked like a madman, a madman with only one thought in his mind: finding his Boss alive and well.  
He had been walking for about fifteen minutes when his legs finally gave away under him. The swordsman felt dizzy, feverish – more than before. He collapsed on the ground, as simply as if he had never got the will to keep standing up since the very first time. The place was dangerous, he somehow understood that fact. There, he ran the risk of burning by inches or having the framework falling on him – still he just couldn't find the courage to run away and leave the raven behind. He couldn't.  
Squalo passed out, noticing only a millisecond before he did heavy footsteps nearing him.  
…  
The apartment was a ruin. The luxurious curtains, carpets and furniture were gone. Charbroiled. But Xanxus had to admit the scenery wasn't that bad: everything was bathed in red and orange, only unqualifiable chaos and mayhem – something that suited the raven far more than the previous cozy and luxurious decor. Luckily, when the bomb exploded, he had been looking for another bottle of Tequila in the storeroom (there was already a stock of booze in his room, but it strangely never lasted past two days). The tanned man wasn't even planning on going back to the first floor – until he heard some trash shouting his name. It was coming from upstairs.  
No. Was that bloody idiot actually looking for him in the middle of that inferno?  
'Just let him die there', a little voice whispered in his head. As a matter of fact, that was the wisest decision one could take at the moment. After all, this world wasn't made for retarded slow enough to jump in the fire for someone they barely know.  
Let him die. The words were echoing in Xanxus' ears. He frowned. Of course he would let the shark trash die. The opposite was out of question…  
A huge crash. The ceiling was starting to fall apart.  
"Che." A deep wrinkle appeared between Xanxus' eyebrows. His feet moved almost automatically, leading him to the fire escape which had miraculously survived to the surrounding fire. His soles banged quickly against each step. The first thing he saw when he reach his floor was an unmoving body lying on the parquet. The silvery mane was immediately distinguishable even within the disorder.  
Xanxus came closer. Squalo wasn't moving at all. He was turning his back to the raven, so the latter couldn't see his face behind the dirtied locks. Xanxus slightly – and uncaringly – pushed the shark's cheek with the upper extremity of his boot. The angel-like face was in a bad shape: ugly contusions, a cracked lip and a cut stretching from the right cheekbone to the chin; but nothing that seemed irreparable. Until he saw the left hand.  
It was almost painful to see. The bones were all broken, formless, twisted in a hellish way. The knuckles were bent oddly, as if the phalanxes wanted to get out from the articulations. Squalo's wrist was only there for the show since the hand was only dangling in a weird angle. It was totally hopeless. Even the best surgeon on Earth could do nothing for it…  
But that's when a flash crossed the raven's mind: it was Squalo's left hand.  
He kneeled down and, with his hand, he felt the silverette's pulse. It was low but it was present. The Mafia Boss lowered his upper body and lifted the wounded swordsman on his arms. Xanxus couldn't help but notice how Squalo's body was light. His head was resting against the raven's chest and his legs hanging on their side.  
The felling was one of the strangest. Xanxus, saving a human life? Xanxus, the Mafia Boss, giving a damn about something else other than him?  
But it wasn't the time to ponder about it. They had to get out from the rapidly burning building, unless they'd lie there forever. Dead and stupid. The raven paced fast amongst the rubble, feeling the flames' heat licking his skin, threatening every minute to scorch his expensive clothes. It took him about five minutes to reach the back-door. A hard quick and it swung on its hinges.  
They got outside.  
After the furnace, the night's fresh air was almost a benediction for both survivors. In the tanned man's arms, the silverette was still dead to the world. He was making no movements; only his chest was raising up and down slowly and imperceptibly. As he noticed that detail, Xanxus unconsciously heaved a sigh of relief. He silently walked to the border of the pavement, far enough from the fire to stay safe.  
They were near a payphone. It was broken. No wonder why the firefighters weren't there yet. However, the fire set up half an hour earlier; someone could have called them! That's why people are only pieces of trash, Xanxus thought. Talking about trash… He looked at the sleeping beauty then, with a gentleness even he didn't know he could have, he put Squalo down. The latter didn't wake up. The back of his head was resting against the cold metal of the payphone's unique foot and his arms were on his belly.  
The ruby orbs couldn't ignore the shark's shapeless hand… Shapeless. That was indeed the best word to describe the useless limb. Under the street lamp's light, the sight was way worse, if that was even possible. Anyway his face remained calm. Showing affection or compassion wasn't something he was used to do.  
Xanxus started when he suddenly heard the sound of many footsteps approaching him. He rose up, just like a lion – slowly and not caring about who the hell was foolish enough to disturb him in whatever he had been doing. In the dim light, he saw two kids running to him. One of them had green hair, but he wasn't the weirdest of them. Running slowly behind him was a creepy blond with a tiara and bangs hiding half of his face. Oddly, that one didn't look totally unknown to the Mafia Boss.  
"Squalo… You…" The blonde told, then silenced. He pointed at Squalo "Is he…Dead?"  
"What if he is, you little scum?" Xanxus said indifferently. "This has nothing to do with you."  
The blond took a deep breath and looked down – or at least he gave the impression of doing so, his eyes still invisible behind the glowing mane. With an undisturbed tone: "Whether it has anything to do with us or not, it's only us to decide. Besides, I know you enough to guess you're not the kind of man to bring corpses of your comrades out of the fire. You're not that sentimental."  
"To make it short," This time the second kid, the one with green hair, stated platonically, "you're more like a gorilla that would eat your dead friends' body instead of starving to death."  
"Huh? This? A friend?" Xanxus asked with disgust while pulling his guns out (a strange fact he didn't react to the term 'gorilla'). "Must be kidding me, scumbags. I don't need this useless trash with me. Even less now than ever. I can show you right now if you like."  
And saying that, Xanxus aimed at Squalo. The trigger was unlocked. Bel stayed quiet. He just stared at the ground. 'Don't mess with the Mafia Boss', that unique sentence was resounding in the fair haired boy's mind.  
Seeing the kids wouldn't utter shit to him again, the raven turned tails. Before he would disappear again, Belphegor called at him. "Wait, Boss. Where are you heading to?"  
Xanxus said nothing. He just disappeared, his jacket hanging loose on his shoulders. Far away, firemen's siren could be heard ringing, ringing in a sorrowful manner.  
…  
The ambulance arrived one hour later, together with the firemen. Bel could only curse the nearby lamentable health service as he saw his friends being picked up by an old dented white van. After the ambulance men asked them their identity and the circumstances of their "accident" (of course that was an accident. In a district like this one where criminality rate was nearing 100%, something like this would always be an accident), they got in the car.  
The hospital wasn't better than the vehicle that brought them there. It was as if all the misery in the world was concentrated in the few square meters of the waiting room: amputee, handicapped, the ones high on drugs, the others vomiting their guts on the tiled floor, some losing so much blood it was a wonder how they could manage to remain alive, some screaming in fear and agony, some remaining strangely quiet, the eyes somewhere else…  
Fortunately for the kids' stomach, they only crossed through the hallway, not losing even one second in it.  
Bel took his eyes off of that wretched humanity and instead followed the hand-barrow on which Squalo was lying, an oxygen mask on his mouth and a wet compress on his forehead. An entire roll of bandages was trapping the silver haired boy's left hand. The right one, the blond was holding it tight. He didn't let go of it until a nurse forced him to. They were about to enter the operating-room (operating room n°5, blue-grey door, strong odor of antiseptics, left, left, right and left after the hospital entrance).  
They left Bel in the long, white corridor. Above his head, a warning light was glowing red. Operation in process. The blond boy just stood there stupidly, staring idly at the greyish door in front of him. He wasn't even trying to look through the two small smoked panes inlayed in the doors, at his eye level. He didn't have the courage to. He just stood there, waiting, instinctively praying in his hearts of hearts.  
Yes, he had already seen Squalo getting hospitalized by the past. It wasn't that rare, considering how hothead the guy was. From minor scratches to deadly cuts, the boy did see some pretty horrific things with Squalo.  
No. That's wrong.  
He had seen his hand. That's why he didn't want to leave his post at the operating-room's entrance. He had seen his left hand.  
He saw it.  
…  
The Eclipse, one of the most famous and trendy clubs in the town. On the inside, the place wasn't bad at all: multiple bars supplied with the best liquors, the best quality, and the most beautiful women in the country as waiters and dance floors spreading as far as the eye can see… The club had everything to please. Built in the popular district, it finally won a name after years of being close to bankruptcy and this all thanks to the help of some "unofficial" connections of the club's owner. Which wasn't that particular of a fact in the area. At least, with the protection of the mob, violence in the club and outside had stopped. Everyone could get as drunk and stoned as he liked and no blood was poured on the ground.  
Until that night.  
There, in a smoky box at the corner of the huge and dim room, sprawling on the leather bench, a man with tanned skin and dark hair was contemplating the place with his disdainful ruby orbs. In vein, since the dance floor was crowded to hell; yet the man kept on watching. In that formless mass of sweating and dancing human flesh, he was looking for a face. The music (some sort of tasteless, modern and mind-numbing electro music) was deafening, but the raven didn't seem to even notice it. He gulped down the rest of his dry whisky and, after wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he got up. He sank in the crowd.  
Strangely, the mass was instinctively moving away from him, as if they were the same pole of two different magnets. Though it wasn't because of the raven's appearance: the man was tall, he had a well-built body, a sensual and in the same time dangerously wicked look on his face. He was that kind of guy today's aesthetic norms are judging as handsome. However, people, as if sensing the menace emanating from him, even in their dead drunkenness, stepped back, just like coward cattle, as the man advanced within them. At some point, a woman approached him daringly. She was thin, gorgeous and high. She started dancing around the tanned man, her gestures obscene and provocative. By the end of the song, she was kissing the raven avidly. Her legs couldn't even keep her up anymore. She fell stupidly on the ground; the raven just let her there.  
He kept pacing forward until he reached a group of dancing youths: a man and, gathering around him, a bunch of few women. They were more noisy and showy than the rest of the people in the club, mostly the man. He was waving his arms and practically kicking the air with his legs, and the whores were applauding and laughing as he did.  
The tanned man casually pushed them aside and pulled the man's collar so that the drunkard was facing him fully. The latter ask him something, but his voice was lost in the club's noises. He was trying to free himself, but the raven didn't let go of him. He was slowly getting angry, and his features heavy with alcohol were stretched into a comical rictus.  
You don't know who I am, the man said. To this, the raven answered with a gun pointed at his forehead. The man paled suddenly. Everyone around him was too busy with the music to notice his whitening, too busy to notice the man was up to be shot to death.  
Wait, wait! Who the fuck are you? He added. The raven smirked. He liked the fear he saw on the other's face, liked to play with his prey before the kill. The drunkard understood he could hope for no help from the girls, since long gone.  
Don't do that, buddy! He bargained. How much do you want? Just give me your price and it'll be mine.  
He was shivering. The raven wouldn't say anything. His smirk was turning into a fiendish grin. Nonetheless, some saints in Heaven might have listened to the poor drunkard's prayers since one hand stopped the raven before he had time to pull at the trigger. The latter looked past his shoulder. A youth with brown eyes and stunning blond hair, a patient smile on his lips, was standing behind him.  
"Xanxus," he smiled, "you'd better not do that here. We're watched."  
"You little piece of scum, mind your own business." Xanxus spat angrily. "What do I care if police is here?"  
"If it was just police, it would be easy." The blond sighed, then his expression became deeply seriously. "It's a wasps' nest. Can't you see them? The entire place is filled with hired men." At a quick glance all over the dance floor, the tanned man indeed distinguished one or two dozen of bulky men with a lump under their jackets that didn't look like their cell phones. "If you do have some brain, you'd better get out."  
Xanxus che-ed but finally released the other man and followed the blond outside. After all, with all the people in the club, it would be a pain to try to get out after the firing.  
They reached an empty alleyway behind the nightclub. It was giving off an awful stench. A wrinkle appeared above Xanxus' nose bridge. He was dejected, which only meant in his own language that he was terribly mad. He needed someone to take the frustration of his dropped kill on, and the only one he had before him was that blond guy. Xanxus aimed at him. The other man didn't even flinch at the sound of the trigger.  
"What the hell are you here for?" The raven asked drily. "Some friend of the other one in there?"  
"Far from it." The blond shrugged. "I'm just like you, that is, I have some affair to settle down around here."  
Affair? Xanxus didn't even want to know of what kind, yet he didn't feel at ease. That man, a complete stranger, knew his name and his plans for that night. He was in a weaker position.  
"Your name, trash. Chi sa?"  
The other smiled and held out his hand for Xanxus to shake. "I'm Dino Cavallone. Boss of the Cavallone famiglia. And I think we have an acquaintance in common. I suppose you know him well? His name is Squalo."

Xanxus put his gun down and drew a lighter and a pack of cigarette from his pocket. He lit up a stick then put it between his lips. Even if the raven was, for some time, relatively calm, the Cavallones' Don couldn't help but feel his legs shake uncontrollably beneath him.  
After his father's early death, few months ago (the man was only in his mid-forties), he didn't have any other choice but to inherit their family's "business". Before that, he had always been reluctant. He said he wanted to have a normal life, to go to high school, to college, to have a normal job then build his own family, far away from the violence and the precariousness of his previous life. Yes, Dino cherished that kind of innocent dreams; but they all became illusory after his father's murder. Six bullets in the head. The poor man was unrecognizable. Dino hadn't been allowed to see him, his father's closest friends were sure the boy wouldn't have been able to remain sane if he saw that.  
They didn't take into account the cops and their boundless nosiness. The entire famiglia was under police examination. No valid revelation could have been extorted from them, but the tragedy happened, in the end. The police thought if they showed the late Don's son a photo of the corpse, it would have been enough to make him do some confession. What a tactlessness act. It only resulted on a way more impenetrable mutism from the young boy.  
For the first time, Dino grasped the horror of his situation, the danger in which he and his family had always lived, although him unconscious and naïve. What had happened to his father could easily have happened to him, to any other member of the Cavallone famiglia, to his friends… He didn't want that to happen, he had to protect them! This is what he kept thinking about, night and day.  
By that time, rumors of a new group, a new famiglia, was reaching everyone's ears, including Dino's. Rumors of a dark gunslinger and a silver swordsman. The blond already knew what it was about, or more exactly he didn't believe it was just a coincidence. And almost in the same time Belphegor appeared before him (he hadn't seen the kid and his brother anymore since Squalo's leaving). What the smaller blond wanted was very simple: he would work for the Cavallone and in exchange, as a payment, he wanted the Cavallone to give him all the means he needed to find the silverette.  
Actually, Dino needed this sort of service. Even two months after their previous leader's assassination, the Cavallones still were very strictly kept under observation by the police. The Don needed an informer that would go unnoticed before them. It was perfidious of him to use a kid, but he also knew Bel wasn't any kid…  
But what he had seen after all of this was simply the worst thing he witnessed after his father's death.  
Squalo, the proud, loud swordsman and the first friend he had ever made out of his family, was lying there, comatose, in a hospital bed. His left hand missing, his face and body bandaged and stitched up. And that was the first time he saw him in months.  
He found Bel sitting silently in the corner of the bedroom, supporting Fran who was sleeping against his shoulder.  
"Don't talk too loud." Bel said without looking at him. "Doctors say he's alright. A bunch of liars, don't you think?"  
"What happened to him?" Dino asked with a stressful tone. "Just what could have occurred for him to…"  
Bel put his forefinger in front of his mouth. "Shhh. Don't talk loud, I say. This is a hospital, you know."  
"Don't mock me!"  
"I'm not. Now can you sit down? I can't see him well."  
There was no sign of anger in Bel's voice, but he was imperious. The older blond was hiding the patient from him. Dino moved aside and sat next to the kids.  
"It was past midnight." Dino spoke. "How long have you been waiting here? Did you ever have some dinner?"  
"Four hours. Don't need it. And Fran had spent all that time in the cafeteria so he's alright."  
"Why didn't you call me? I gave you my number. You should have called me at the moment you found him! I completely lost contact with you. What if something happened to you… No, something actually happened! If Romario hadn't told me about the explosion, I wouldn't even know you were there…"  
Bel grimaced. "Tsk. You're noisy. You'll wake this one up."  
Dino gave up. It was impossible to try to control those kids. He rubbed his face with his hands. What the heck was this, really? How could something like this happen to someone like Squalo? He was on the point of giving a sob, but he held it back. He knew if Squalo saw his weeping, even half dead, he would have beaten him to death. Bizarrely, it made him smile a little.  
Because of his Don's duties, Dino couldn't come at the hospital as often as he liked. He would come once in a while, mostly at the end of the day. He came one week after, Squalo still was sleeping. Yet Dino didn't leave. He put the flowers he had brought with him in a vase and stayed there. The Cavallone sat on the same chair and kept an eye on the swordsman while Bel would take a nap. He felt guilty about not being able to do more for them, but the situation in town had worsened like no hell after the explosion affair. Even walking in the streets in the middle of the day could be fatal for anyone.  
The only time he could free himself again was only one more week later. This time, Squalo had already woken up, but still couldn't move from the bed. The silver head was watching with a blank air at the window, right on his left. The sunray was traversing the white curtain and flooding the bedroom with a yellow-orangey shade. Squalo was holding tight his left wrist with his other hand. He didn't look at Dino as the latter came to sit beside him. The blond distinguished no hint that the silverette was annoyed or sad. He was just… Expressionless.  
He smiled gently, putting the usual bunch of flowers on the bed head. "Yo, Squalo. We didn't see each other in a while."  
Are you alright? Did you do something interesting? In Dino's mind, all those common questions sounded like insults toward the swordsman. He was pretty aware of everything Squalo had done the past months, and one hospitalized for multiple wounds and a cut hand is in no way alright.  
"Cavallone…So it's you." Unexpectedly, Squalo replied, his eyes still wandering in the void.  
"Ah, I'm so happy you still remember my name!" Dino laughed heartedly. "Um. You need something, maybe? Water, or another pillow… Your wounds, they look like they hurt a lot. Do I call a nurse? Or-"  
"Voi, Dino Cavallone." Squalo drily cut the blond, his features now slightly twisted with annoyance. "Why did you save me? Why didn't you let me there?"  
"There… You mean in that burning building?" Dino frowned. "I'd never let you die there, by no means… Anyway Bel is the one who found you. I only came here-"  
Squalo finally glared at him, his wicked grey orbs locking with Dino's brown ones. "This isn't what I asked you!" He yelled. "I don't want to owe anyone anything, nor you, nor the brats… No one!"  
Dino stood up and glared back at him. "Do you clearly understand what you're implying? You expect us to let you die purposelessly, slowly bleeding to death in the street like a dog? You're insane! Do you know how much we were worried about you? You disappeared without telling anyone, all those rumors are circulating about you… And you end up so badly injured!"  
"It has absolutely nothing to do with you. How I live, how I die…"  
"Yes, it has! There are limits to pride. Yours is purely unconsciousness!"  
"So what, you damn brat?"  
Dino clenched his fists. "I'm not a brat!"  
"Che?" Squalo sneered. "Voi, just your leading a lousy group of Mafiosi doesn't make of you a fucking man."  
"Neither does your cutting Mafiosi all over the town. I suppose a real man would have never made a mistake that would lead him to the hospital."  
"You'd better keep your shitty mouth shut, Cavallone." Squalo's tone lowered gravely. Dino was sure if the guy hadn't been seriously wounded, he would have killed him since long. His legs were shaking unconsciously, but he didn't stop.  
"If not, what? Don't make the mistake to think you're the only who had changed."  
"That's only fucking empty words."  
"Perhaps. I don't really know myself. The only thing I can say is that I won't let any of my friends get hurt. I wouldn't have let you get hurt. Tell me, Squalo. Why did you choose to follow someone like him? Why…"  
Why him?  
"Shut your fucking mouth I say!" Squalo shouted and threw a pillow at the blond's head. It dropped in the floor. Dino sighed.  
"I guess it's over for today." He picked the pillow up and put it back on the bed. "I'll come back as fast as I can." Even if you don't want to see me. "Don't overwork yourself until then, Squalo."  
Dino tried to smile at the silverette, but the latter didn't even look at him. Now Squalo was really angry, Dino thought, a bit of culpability in his heart. He slowly walked to the door, his brain still boiling with everything he had said.  
"See you later, then…" He spoke while facing the door. "I'm sorry if I…" He turned back to look at Squalo, then silenced.  
Squalo still was sitting on the bed with his folded arms resting on his knees, and his face hidden behind them. He was silent, but his shoulders were shaking a little. Only once did Dino hear a soft whimper from the silverette. It was the first time he saw the proud swordsman cry. He knew the other boy would have never forgiven him if he ever had the indelicacy of saying anything at that moment. Worse still, if he tried to cheer him up or reminded him later that he saw him, Superbi Squalo, crying.  
Dino silently got out and closed the door. It had been the last time he saw Squalo.

Of course he hadn't talk to anyone about all the crying-thing. He didn't want to. That sight, he wanted to treasure it capriciously, childishly, for him only. Plus Xanxus was probably the last person on earth he would have talked to about it.  
"So what the fuck are you here for?" Xanxus emotionlessly cut the blond in his thoughts. "What do you want from me?"  
"We can't find him. He left the hospital, I thought he would be here with you."  
The raven puffed a white smoke then, after throwing the first stick, he took and lit another one and brought it to his lips. "Huh. Why should I care about that trash? As if I wanted to have some kind of crippled piece of scum to work for me."  
Dino was trembling with anger and disbelief. "You really aren't ashamed of yourself, are you? Squalo gave everything up for you and this is how you thank him!"  
"You worthless scum." The tanned man glowered at him. "If you think you can survive in this world with that trashy way of thinking of yours, you won't last for long. Or what? Did you expect me to keep the other scum by my side? To comfort him and forgive him?"  
"Forgive him, you say…" The Cavallone's voice was shaking with indignation. "It's not as if Squalo has anything to be ashamed about. If he should regret something, that would be meeting you.  
Xanxus stared at Dino as if asking himself whether the blond was drunk or drugged or both. Again another white puff, then a smirk. "So that's how it is."  
Perplexed, Dino looked at him. "How is what? What are you talking about?"  
Suddenly the sound of stomping reached Dino's ears. People were coming, they were numerous and, as Don Cavallone could hear from his spot, they were quite irritated and looking for Xanxus.  
"Trash. I have no time to lose listening your goddamn fit of the offended lover." He shoved Dino aside and walked to the other side of the alleyway. "Now get away from my sight before I seriously damage your already lame brain.  
Fortunately for the blond, the place was dark, so the raven couldn't catch sight of the blush spreading all over his face. At last Dino's legs gave up. He collapsed on the floor, still shivering from the meeting he had with the raven. Few minutes later, a fusillade burst in the middle of the night.  
…  
What did he cry? And moreover, in front of the Cavallone brat. Squalo cursed himself. Yet, he hadn't been able to stop the tears once they started to fill his eyes. He was sure he looked pretty ridiculous like that, whimpering like the child he had accused Dino to be. Who was he trying to fool? He was a child, a damn child who hadn't even be able to fulfill his Boss' only wish.  
"Right hand man my ass." He murmured. His saliva was bitter with remorse and also because of all the medicines he had to take since morning.  
But more than anything, he failed at protecting Xanxus. He didn't know what happened to the raven. He didn't even know if he was alive, out of danger. He knew absolutely nothing! "I fucked up. Dammit, I fucked everything up."  
Then tears streamed down his face again, more burning than ever. Those weren't the tears of a child crying because he had been lectured by his parents. Those were the tears of a repentant, of a penitent in fault who knew perfectly he had erred.  
He wanted to see him. He had to.  
"But even if I find Xanxus, what can I say to him?"  
Forgive me. Please, don't hate me, don't let me aside… That was perfectly silly. For Xanxus, he must be already dead, and seeing the swordsman creeping before him would only disgust him a little more. He was disgusting himself.  
This time, Squalo couldn't suppress his sobs anymore. Each tear he wiped away was instantly replaced by another one. His eyes were red, he had a runny nose and his head was starting to ache. He hated that. That was utterly unworthy of him.  
"Ugh. Wash your face. That's gross." Someone said from the door, startling Squalo. The silverette looked at the intruder to find a green haired boy casually munching crisps.  
"Vooi, Fran, get out! I really don't want to deal with you right now."  
"Don't want to. Not before I take a picture of your ugly face." Then adding the acts to the words, Fran pulled a phone from his pocket and took the pic. Squalo was irritated, to no hell.  
"Voooi, you little bastard, if you don't delete this fucking pic right now I'll kill you! I swear to God if I only have one day left to live in this damn world, I'll get you and fucking skin you alive… Voi, did you hear me?!"  
"Bye bye." Fran didn't listen and left the bedroom.  
"You motherfucking brat!" Squalo tried to get up. He accidentally leant on his no longer existing hand, and almost fell on the ground. Luckily enough, he caught the headboard of the bed in extremis. "Shit." He cursed again, anger once more filling his heart.  
"What are you doing?" Bel showed up at the door. Squalo was tired yelling at people since it was totally useless. Instead he sat back in the bed and scowled.  
"Voi, nothing. Only, if you find Fran, tell him his days are numbered."  
"I'll tell him." Bel drew closer to the bed and picked a Kleenex from a box on the bed head. He showed it to Squalo. "I mean, what are you going to do now?"  
What was he going to do? He wished someone could tell him. Right at the moment, only one thought was rumbling in his head. He took the handkerchief and noisily blew his nose. It was sadly lacking of glamour, Bel thought. It made him smile in his inner self. But wasn't that exactly what made of Squalo Squalo?  
"There's a fucking rat." Squalo explained and stared at Bel. Meh. The kid certainly would understand nothing of what he was talking about, and he needed to have his mind limpid. "Someone who knew where the meeting would be held. Apart from the guests, only Xanxus and I did. And I only called the guests no more than the day before, they wouldn't have been able to prepare the trap within so few hours."  
"So the rat comes from the inside." The smaller uttered carelessly as he sat on his sit in the corner. Squalo stared at him again, more surprised than anything else.  
"The rat comes from the inside… Or not." The silverette thought aloud. "Some people knew where Xanxus was living. On a second thought, it could be anyone…"  
"Someone who knew exactly where to place the bomb. Who didn't attract people's attention as they paced in that place. A regular. Or people working at the tavern."  
Squalo frowned and crossed his arms. "So I'm right. Anyone could have done it. Do you have the slightest idea of the number of lousy scums that were hanging in that damn tavern?"  
Bel looked up – or more precisely he raised his head.  
"Marino Seghi from the Pietrangeli famiglia. Mid thirties. Tall, nasty look on his face. A beard he didn't cut for three days." He recited like a counting rhyme. "Terzo D'Inzeo from the Senoner famiglia. About fifty. Small and squat. Former boxer. Samuele Colo, again from the Senoner famiglia…"  
Bel didn't stop the counting. At the other side of the room, Squalo was watching at him incredulously.  
"What the hell is that?" He asked, puzzled.  
"Do you recognize any of them from the description?"  
The swordsman's eyes widened with realization. Moles, of course. "The no.2. Small and fat." He answered after one second. "The others I never saw around the tavern. Three months earlier, I caught him downstairs. He said he was drunk and that he lost his way. It was an isolated case so I didn't give a damn."  
Reconnaissance. Bel grinned. "Shishishi. So now we have our man."

 

A Mafia Capo shot to death. Erardo Tarantola shot down outside his apartment. Mystery gunman kills three Mafiosi… Recently, newspapers had only those as headlines. For two weeks nonstop, people didn't have on their lips anything but the murder case of such big one in such famiglia, the mysterious disappearing of a renowned name in the underground, or the nervous stir almost too obvious within the Mafia families of the town. Their nervousness was understandable, though. It seemed that the famous Mafiosi murderer didn't choose his victims. Whether they had the slightest connection with Mafia was enough to put them on the list. The gunman's list, it goes without saying.  
Yes, it was war. A pure one-sided, urban war. The slaughters had no apparent scheme. Most of time, the victims seemed they had been murdered by sheer luck – if that can even be called luck. They were at their home, alone or with their lovers or friends or families, or they were just walking in the street or getting down from their cars… Then it was the bloodshed. The weird fact was that nobody seemed to be able to stop him. The families organized themselves, they cut their ties with the outside world and were never wandering alone or unarmed in the town. But it was totally ineffective.  
"By the end of the month, almost twenty-three murders and sixteen disappearances are numbered in the city." A reporter was relating on the huge TV screen of the coffee shop where Squalo and Bel were having their breakfast. "But those numbers aren't exact and the police is still investigating for further leads…"  
Someone shut the TV off. "Brrr. How can you listen to something as gloomy as that so early in the morning?" An old waitress said. "With all that crap going around, I won't be able to walk freely in the streets anymore."  
"Aa, well," An old man who was sitting before the coffee counter, next to the pair, retorted. "They say the victims were all criminals, Mafia and all that crap. Who knows, maybe it's some kind of vigilante or something like that."  
"A vigilante! Ah, Dio mio, Fredo, what're you talking about?" The waitress rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the sky in a theatrical way and sighed. "It's just a settling of scores between criminals who don't care about collateral damages. That's all!"  
The old woman violently put down a mug of steaming coffee in front of Fredo and went in the back of the shop. Bel didn't take his eyes from the old lady until she was totally out of sight.  
"Criminals, she said." He spoke. "Are you okay with that?"  
"Why should I care?" Squalo shrugged then plunged a butter croissant in hot chocolate with his valid hand. "She isn't wrong. We're just a bunch a shitty cockfuckers not valuable enough to have our names written on a grave. No matter what those garbage may say, this is a truth that will never change." The silverette brought the croissant to his mouth, but it seemed the chocolate had been too hot, since he suddenly shouted and threw his mug away. But when the old waitress heard it break on the ground, she started to scream and swear and threaten the two boys with knives from the kitchen.  
Squalo ran away (after leaving on the counter a generous tip), Bel ran after him. They only paused once far enough from the coffee shop and the murderous old lady. A glance at his surroundings told the blond boy they were in a park for children, with the seesaws, the sandboxes, the merry-go-rounds… everything Bel always hated when he was younger. He looked at Squalo. The silver head was sprawling on a bench, breathing heavily. His hair, which he hadn't cut for months, was long and hiding half of his sweaty face. He sat next to him. Like that, the boy thought, they looked like two siblings sitting together in a park, as if it was perfectly natural. Nothing abnormal but the dark grey coat Squalo was wearing, which didn't match with his age and the surrounding childlike and happy atmosphere.  
"So what are we doing now?" He asked casually.  
"Huuh?" The swordsman frowned. "What do you mean by 'we'? I already made my point earlier, didn't I? You are going to do nothing. Just go back to your little brother and I'm going to put an end to all of this shit."  
"Not faaair." Bel complained. "Why are you always the only one who gets to have some fun? Plus I don't remember anymore where I let the frog. I think he's with Cavallone, or still in the hospital…"  
Suddenly Squalo got up, facing the boy.  
"Voi, this isn't fun, you damn kid!" He roared angrily. "This is anything but fun, unless the perspective of having your little head riddled with holes is amusing you. You don't have the slightest idea of what's waiting for me on this hellish journey. I'm not even sure I'll make it till tonight, and you keep on joking about it? This isn't a playground for you, brat. This is fucking war!"  
Everyone around was silent and staring curiously at them. Finally noticing their look on him, the silverette sat down and hid his mutilated hand. "Anyway you're not staying with me." He added. "I'll send you back to Dino. After that, you can do anything of your life, as long as you don't stay in my legs. What you decide to do, where you decide to go, it has nothing to do with me. Got it?"  
The boy received that ultimatum like a slap on his face. But maybe, inspired by some divine psalm, he turned the other cheek.  
"You stupid, stuuupid Squalo." He grinned while swinging his legs back and forth. "Did you really think I'll listen to what you say? I'll do what I want because I'm a prince, and if my highness wants to follow you, then my highness shall follow you. You should feel honored by it."  
"You little-"  
"Now, let's be pragmatic." Bel cut. "Knowing your dear, dear Boss' ("Who's my dear Boss?" Squalo blushed) hotheaded personality and most of all the damage the other famiglia are receiving, it's obvious that the second party will try to make the first step to calm the first one and reduce the damages."  
"Yeah, but like hell is Boss going to listen to their pleading." Squalo folded his arms and crossed his legs. "They can't stop him. They know it and Xanxus knows they know it. The die is cast."  
"So? Everything is good, so why are you here for?"  
The silver haired boy grimaced. "That stupid Boss… Is only up to put everything upside down. If I let him do as he likes, there will be nothing left anymore in this damn town but a shitty mess. Forget the lowlife scumbags he's chasing right now, we'll have Hell itself on our back."  
"Heeee…" Bel's grin stretched hellishly. He stood up and firmly pulled the silverette's left arm so that the latter could plainly see his cut hand. As he talked his voice was guttural and menacing, his expression even more cynical than usual. "Shishishishi. This is only what you're after? Smoothing things over? Are you sure all you want isn't just forgiveness from your dear Boss? Ah! This is the best. I imagine the long-awaited reunion. Do you imagine Xanxus opening his arms wide for you? His coarse voice murmuring words of absolution in your ears, telling you that everything is alright, everything is pardoned, forgotten?" He lowered his head so that his lips were just inches form the silverete's ears. "Squalo… I don't loathe you, I don't hate you. Please go back by my side and I'll treasure you the way you've always wanted me to, as without you my days are meaningless, my sky is void of stars and each one of my heartbeats hurts me more than a million of knives stabbing my heart… Hmph!"  
"You just won't shut up, will you? Aaaa?" Squalo glowered evilly at the blond while his right hand was clamping hard against the younger boy's mouth and nose.  
"It's… mmf… jjuft a bvvvoke!" Bel waved his arms with panic. "Cannt…Fff… breathh!"  
"Che."  
He let go. Bel sprawled on the ground and breathed heavily. At the corner of his eye, he could see Squalo who was on the point of leaving the park. As quickly as he could, he tagged after him.  
"Where are you going?"  
"I'm not telling you!"  
"Come on! It was only a joke!"  
"I said I'm not telling you!"  
"Squaaaalo…"  
"Voooi. What?!"  
"Buy me some cream pancake."  
"Get lost!"  
…  
When they arrived at Terzo D'Inzeo's miserable flat, lost in the deepest part of the most indigent town district, he had already been murdered. Blood was covering half of the walls and sheets and curtains. The entire apartment – which only consisted in two rooms: a bedroom and a small bathroom – was a mess. Bel whistled at what he saw.  
"When Boss does something, he does it throughout, huh?"  
"Don't stay outside and come in." Squalo ordered. "We're not even supposed to be here."  
Bel complied, stepped in and closed the door behind him. The room was filled with a sickening smell the boy assumed was the rotten cadaver's. He crossed the place, being careful of not touching anything as he walked, and mostly avoiding the huge mark of dry blood on the carpet.  
"You don't have to be that anxious." Squalo said from the bathroom. "Police don't have your fingerprints, so go and look for some valuable documents in that cupboard, near the bed."  
The blond did as he was told. Fortunately, the Terzo guy was some kind of exceedingly meticulous man. Everything in the cupboard was meticulously filed, labeled and ranked chronologically. Now, the problem wasn't where to look at, but from where to start.  
"Squaaalo. What do I have to do with that? And what do you want me to look for…" He complained then closed the cupboard. He was about to come in the bathroom when the swordsman unexpectedly blocked his way.  
The silverette just got out of the bathroom and was furrowing. "Don't come in." He was wiping his hands covered with blood. "It's pretty ugly in there. This guy had had absolutely no chance."  
Bel followed the swordsman with his eyes as the latter walked to the door.  
"He was sleeping when a noise made him wake up, probably a knock; hence the stripped bed." Squalo said. "The guy was pretty confident, or stupid. Or both. Even if being a mole, he didn't really mind who was making such noise. There's no sign of infraction, which means he willingly opened the door…" Squalo was now facing the door. "That's where he got shot. Bang! Probably in the shoulder. Look at the blood stains on the carpet and the cupboard. Terzo hit the cupboard with his back (He took one step back, mimicking Terzo being shot) before falling on the ground. He then crept slowly until he reached the bed. He remained there few minutes, enough to make him lose all that blood…" Squalo closed his eyes and breathed. "He was bargaining. He had recognized Xanxus and was trying to find a way out. But Xanxus listened to what he said, though he didn't seem to appreciate it. Two other shots. Bang. Bang. Right leg and belly. One bullet went through and came out again. Here. (Squalo showed a bullet inlaid in the ground) Well, Terzo must have been crying quite loud, but no one came to save him. So he dragged himself to the bathroom. Xanxus had what he had come for; he didn't need that trash anymore. Then…" Squalo was standing in front of the open bathroom. He stretched his right arm, his fingers imitating a gun. "Bang. The last one in the head. There's no trace of burning around the hole, that only means Xanxus didn't shoot him at close range."  
Bel's face twisted. "So the body is still there, in the bathroom?"  
"It's been there for days. And no one even mind to look what was all the shooting about."  
"Then? What are we doing now?"  
"Terzo told Xanxus who he had been working for, so Boss didn't need to look for any other information here (the silverette swiftly opened the cupboard wide and trailed a finger on the folders). Until this murder, the Boss had hit almost randomly. Now he knows what his target's name is."  
"What? Wasn't D'Inzeo part of the Senoner?"  
"Officially, yes. But there's a high chance they weren't the only ones he had been working for." The swordsman picked a file dated from two weeks earlier. "A mole, a double agent… This wouldn't be impossible. Take a look at this."  
He threw the folder to Bel. No soon had the stack of papers reached his hand than the boy had already finished reading it. "And written evidences?" Bel raised an eyebrow. "That's new."  
"Voi. Keep that with you. We're leaving now."  
And so they did. They didn't call for the mortuary, they didn't call for the neighbors. They just let the body to rot there until the smell was too unbearable and someone finally took upon them to get rid of the body. This is the world Squalo was living in, and this is the world he didn't want Bel to step in. The boy could remember the swordsman's face drenched in tears, back in the hospital. Squalo is the kind of person who would always look strong before others, yet he knew, those had been tears of remorse and rage. A rage against himself, because he was just way too responsible to turn against anyone else but him.  
With his hand in that state, he wouldn't be able to practice the sword anymore, or at least not before he got used fencing with his right hand. But that didn't matter; oh, Bel was sure that was a negligible detail for him. Superbi Squalo was on hunt and, no matter how long it would take him, he'd be sure to pay his debt to the bastards who had made an attempt on the raven's life. For the swordsman, such an infamità could never remain ignored.  
Such a strong bound to the raven… Can that be called love? Bel wasn't sure. It was more akin to respect – a profound respect which had been given birth by too much admiration, as though Xanxus was some kind of god that unexpectedly appeared in Squalo's life. More than love, it was much more like fanaticism, monomania, or passion… but in no way the swordsman's feeling could be associated to fear. Squalo, by no means, did fear Xanxus. He adored him. Those were totally different things, and that was why what the silverette felt toward his boss couldn't be associated to any kind of religion. However, it was true Squalo didn't fear the raven, still what was also true was that he feared more than anything being parted from his Boss.  
Bel didn't remind Squalo his previous rebuff. Whether the swordsman had totally forgotten it, whether he allowed Bel to follow him, that didn't make any difference.  
"Why are you working for the Cavallone?" Squalo asked Bel, out of the blue, as they were heading to the house of Terzo's "benefactor". At least they were sure the man still was alive since, unlike all the bunch of scumbags killed within the previous week, that one was well-known amongst the public, and so far nothing unusual had been said about him.  
"I'm not working for them." Bel replied. "Or, more precisely, 'working' is not the suitable word for what I'm doing. At best, I'm helping them from time to time."  
Squalo stared at him out of the corner of his eyes, but didn't ask more. As kind as the new Cavallone boss could be, traditions aren't things one can easily break overnight, mostly for Sicilian people, and mostly and it was coming to blood.  
"Merely an associate. I don't even have half the blood of an Italian." Bel added, as if to ascertain Squalo's thoughts.  
They had reached the upper class area. Contrary to the hovel where they left Terzo's body, the place was by far more pleasant for the eye and the nose. It was a tranquil residential neighborhood – huge houses, gardens with no fence, luxurious cars exposed outside garages… this clearly was a place where everyone trusted everyone. A principle the swordsman had difficulty to process in his shark-like brain.  
"The target's house is two streets further." Squalo stated. Kids ran past them on the sidewalk. It was past 3 p.m. so no wonder the place would be plenty of children hurrying home to watch their favorite anime program whilst eating their favorite pies. Thanks to their age, Bel and Squalo went practically unnoticed. They just meddled with the other kids and teenagers, trying to look as natural and detached as possible.  
"What are we going to do with him after we get him?"  
"That man is a famous politician. Many strong relations with foreign mafias and multinationals, a face often shown on TV for charity and donations, a happy family with happy children and the whole lot…. Though it'll be of no help for him if Xanxus finds him before us."  
"Before us, nee…" Bel grinned. "I didn't know you too could be greedy. Well, that makes of you a shark after all. Yet I kind of imagine what will down on the Boss if he touches even a hair of this man's head."  
"Fottuto."  
"But why the Boss? What would a billionaire like him gain by killing him?"  
"You're a genius, try to use your brain for once. The day of the explosion, Xanxus was going to steal most of his contracts and principals dealings. Like hell could that greedy pig overlook something like that. It's my fault for not predicting his moves."  
"So, basically, what you're going to do is to get rid of the old man… or make a deal with him before the Boss shoots him dead? More logical. That's kind of ambitious from you." But not totally impossible, Bel pondered pensively.  
It seemed he hadn't heard what the blond boy just told to him. Squalo remained still on the sidewalk, his eyes wide open, when suddenly…  
"Run!" He shouted and pulled the younger boy's hand. Belphegor didn't even have time to ask what was going on. They turned back and ran the opposite direction, not paying attention to the curious glance from the other people walking in the street.  
Bel looked back. A black car with tinted windows was pursuing them closely. Their only chance was that the intertwined streets were fairly crowded, to the point of forming a real labyrinth. They took small alleyways, crossed through gardens and parks. They ran, ran for hours, it seemed to the blond boy. Around them, the environment was changing and the residential neighborhood was gradually replaced by the noise and dirt of the city center. Bel could barely follow Squalo's pace. It was obvious the latter was being slowed down by the younger boy, yet, he didn't let go of him.  
They finally paused and hid near the entrance of a subway, right behind a huge garbage truck, sitting right on the dirty ground. Squalo was already drawing a gun from under his coat.  
"Underlings?" Bel panted.  
Squalo peeped behind the truck. "Looks like. Bel." The latter started. Squalo had called his name so seriously; he wasn't used to hear the swordsman talking to him that way. "Now, you're going to listen to what I say. Voi, don't talk back!" He fiercely yelled as the boy opened his mouth to retort. "The enemy spotted us faster than I thought. They're prepared to fight and not us. You can't stay with me in those conditions. Those guys have no intention to take prisoners."  
With the point of his gun, the silverette showed a small hole in Bel's pullover. The hitmen just missed his back.  
"So what are you…"  
"Don't ask me." Squalo said furiously. "For you, it's better this way."  
The silver haired boy got up and was about to leave, but instead, he remained glued on the spot, hesitant and frowning deeply. He looked alternatively at the main street where their trackers were probably looking for them on foot by then, and then at the blond boy who was still crouched on the ground. Finally, as though he just decided something that was utterly against nature for him, he turned back to Bel and, kneeling on one knee, he lowered himself at the level of the younger boy, right before him. He kissed softly the blond mane. From where he was, Bel could see the shark-like boy's face flush slightly at the action. But it only lasted two seconds.  
Without a word, Squalo got back on his feet and left the subway.  
Bel did what he was told. He stayed there, behind the garbage truck, as silent and motionless as a statue. The night was slowly falling down on the town, the air was getting cold, but he stayed there, crouching, silent, in that smelly subway.  
How long had gone by since Squalo left? He didn't know. There was no way to keep track of time where he was. Even the common sound of the metro users was growing monotonous. A dog came near him, growled and barked after him, but Bel didn't move. And he didn't have to since the dog got kicked hard by a man in a black suit who, right after that, stuck the barrel of a gun right on the boy's temple.  
"Kiddo," The man said menacingly. "If you want to live long enough to see tomorrow's sunrise, you'd better follow me."  
…  
That presumptuous guy in the club had only been one of the many trashes Xanxus had to cross off his list. Contrary to Squalo, his mind wasn't full of noble purposes such as revenge and honor. At best, his hunt was a mere play. Trashes dared touch his belongings, trashes dared think themselves good enough to kill him… And they failed. Those trashes should prepare themselves to pay the consequences of their botch.  
Now, the last name. Eterie Papalia. That scum was even lousier than the others. Who gave a damn about his billions? Who did he think he was, using shitty subordinates to bomb his place? The other trash almost cried his name as the raven shot him in the head. He had been so pitiful it nearly made Xanxus throw up. Even the mere idea of having to dirty his hands with such a rat was unbearable for him. Maybe if that shark trash had been there…  
"Mmh? What's wrong, Xanxus darling?" A woman who was keeping the raven company asked. They had been staying in that luxurious and vulgar hotel room for hours now, Xanxus lying still on the bed, a Cohiba Behike between his lips and a bottle of Macallan on his nightstand, already half drunk.  
Xanxus glared at the prostitute. She was beautiful, surely one of the most beautiful women money could buy. Her body – waist, face, breast and legs – everything was perfect; yet she annoyed the tanned man. He beat her, insulted her, and she kept on coming back. Just like the hyena that had smelled the scent of rotting carcass, she had smelled the dazzling scent of money on Xanxus. She would caress him, kiss him, make love to him as if there was no tomorrow; yet the raven grew tired of her.  
The woman was placing butterfly kisses on the raven's torso. She was unhurriedly tracing his throat, his jawline, to finally kiss him on his lips. But, before she could break the embrace, her eyes opened wide, her face twisted in a ugly grimace. She fell from the bed and coughed painfully as smoke from Xanxus' cigar came out from her mouth. The woman then burst into tears, cursed the raven and ran out of the suite. This time, Xanxus thought, she wouldn't come back anymore.  
He got up and went to take a bath. When he got out from the bathroom, almost one hour later, he still wasn't alone in the suite. Facing the huge glass wall was standing a boy, maybe eleven or twelve, the raven wasn't sure since his face was half hidden by a thick blond mane. How did a kid get into this room? That was a total mystery to him; still he remained calm. Showing panic in front of a brat was out of question for the Mafia boss.  
"I was waiting for you, Boss." The kid said. The voice was familiar to Xanxus. Had he already met that boy somewhere before that day?  
"You brat, what the fuck are you doing here?"  
Bel grinned at Xanxus. "Shishishi. I only came here to bring you a present from Papalia." Bel showed a suitcase lying on the floor.  
Seeing the suitcase, Xanxus instinctively brought his hand to his gun – or more precisely where his gun should have been, hanging at his belt, if he had been wearing his usual clothes and not only a towel around his waist.  
"Damn piece of shit, you want to die that much, huh?"  
"Put it out of your head." Bel shrugged. "He said he wants peace. 'I don't like bloodshed, I'm a businessman and blood costs too much money.' He said. In this suitcase, you'll find an apercu of the contract he wants to make with you-"  
"I'm not gonna read that shit. Just tell me what it is about."  
"Aa Boss," Bel raised his hands and shook his head hypocritically. "Are you implying I've read important documents from my patrons without their authorization, and this albeit I don't even have the code to open the suitcase, only small hints to guess it? … Shishi. Well, that's more or less what I've done, though." Bel span on himself before opening his arms wide. "A total immunity outside Papalia's territory. Money, power and everything you've always wished for… as long as you stay out of the country and abide to Papalia's rules and swear him a complete faith and loyalty for the next years until the old geezer's death."  
Xanxus burst in laughs. Bel imitated him, but he hushed when the raven violently threw an empty bottle at his head, a bottle which he effortlessly dodged, fortunately for him, unfortunately for the mafia Boss.  
"Molto bene, feccia." He smirked devilishly. "That old fart really is tired of living. That's good. Should I grant that bastard's wish… And you shitty shrimp are going to tell me where that asshole is."  
"That's bad~ Boss. I'd rather lead you to Papalia's place." Bel grinned. "You know, I still don't want to die here and now, or end up, you see, like some rat in a bathroom."  
"I'll burst your sorry head, trash."  
"I don't think so." Bel sneered and pulled something from his pockets. Bullets. They fell one by one on the carpet, a dull sound following each impact. "Now let's go, shall we?"  
Xanxus grunted. He just got out of the bath and people were already irritating him? That was beyond common sense. The only fact he was arguing with a middle school boy – and also that said middle school boy still was alive so far – was beyond common sense.  
"You're kidding me…" Xanxus grumbled and yet drew new clothes from the dressing room. He got dressed and followed the blond boy outside the suite, then outside the hotel. Luckily enough for the raven, Papalia's hotel was only few streets further. On board Xanxus' sport car, it only took twenty minutes to get there.  
Papalia had booked a suite in the center town. Well, technically, he didn't have to book the room since it was his own hotel. Not only a hotel: casino, Turkish bathes, a tavern with the best Grand cru of the world and a restaurants proposing dishes from all the countries in the world… Next to it, the Waldorf Astoria wasn't much to look at.  
As they saw the raven arriving, doormen scurried around him to show him the way, leading him in a huge and shimmering hallway where a butler was already waiting for him.  
"This way, Sir." He said.  
A magnificent corridor, then an elevator. Papalia's suite was on the last floor – the imperial suite, the flashy, lavish and immoderate imperial suite. No matter how you look at it, it looked more like an entire house (of course, not a mere house. More like a jet set's house) than a simple hotel room. The old man was sitting comfily in a gigantic leather couch with only a dressing gown to hide his fatness. Bodyguards and whores were surrounding him in a very easy-going way.  
"Aaa!" Papalia yelled and got up as he saw Xanxus coming. "Here's my boy! Xanxus! Vieni qui, figlio!"  
The old man walked toward Xanxus, his arms wide open as if he was about to hug him, but he stopped when he saw the raven aiming at him. This movement had immediately been followed by a real concert of triggers. All within two seconds, the tanned man had a dozen of guns aiming deadly at him. In spite of that fact, Xanxus didn't move, nor did he pull back. The tension in the room was palpable. The whores silently went out, one after the other, aware of the carnage dooming the occupants of the imperial suite.  
"Stronzo! Frocio!" Papalia shouted at his bodyguards. "Put your goddamn guns down! What will you do if you hurt him? Huh? Porco miseria! Now, Xanxus boy, come and sit here, there, in front of me. Very good. Nico, hurry up and bring some drink for our guest."  
Finally, Xanxus settled down in a couch, right before Papalia's. Soon after, aperitifs were served and women came back hovering around them.  
"So," The old man resumed as he had regained his throne, his face all sweet and debonair. "What do you think about my proposition? Tempting, isn't it? No! No, don't say a thing yet. You don't have the slightest idea of what I'm proposing you, boy. Over! No more risks, no more worries about your future, as I'm taking it in charge. I take everything in charge, Xanxus! Your enemies are my enemies and your friends are my friends. It's as simple as that. If someone harms you, that asshole harms me. Everything mine is yours, and everything yours… is yours! Ha! Ha! Ha! Don't worry, boy. I'm not here to pluck you. Hee? You don't look convinced. Is the counterpart bothering you? Boy, boy. What I ask from you, it's… it's… almost nothing! Of course, you can come and go where you want to, I won't force you to stay where you don't want to stay, it's all up to you…"  
A hissed laugh resounded in the room. Everyone except from Xanxus looked out for the impertinent who had the nerve interrupt their leader, only to find a twelve year old boy crouching behind Papalia's couch, laughing like a madman.  
"Old man." Bel shishi-ed. "Isn't that the complete opposite of what you've said sooner? 'Xanxus is a hot blooded guy.' You said. 'He has brains but mostly too much wrath in him, and in our world, people like him never last very long.'"  
The old man scowled at him, his face covered with sweat. "Tsk. So you're still alive. Xanxus boy, forget what that brat said. Or rather, no, no, don't forget it. That's true. That's what I said, indeed, but it's all for your sake… Aaah, I tell you, Xanxus boy. If I had a son, I would have like him to be exactly like you: strong, manly, and merciless. But unfortunately, my poor wife died before she could give me an heir…"  
Suddenly, Papalia's breath quickened agonizingly and his armpits were drenched with perspiration. Dyspnoea at rest, that was. Immediately one of the bodyguards brought an artificial-respiration machine and presented an oxygen mask to the old man. The latter breathed in avidly. Apparently, the old geezer's days were counted.  
After few deep gulps of air, Papalia put the mask off and whispered something to one of his bodyguards. The man left the suite and only went back a quarter of an hour later with another woman. Contrary to the other whores, she was way younger, but her features were more exquisite and delicate. The girl was tall and slender. She had long brown hair and was wearing a red dress that seemed to float around her lean body.  
The escort practically threw the girl in Papalia's arms. The old man didn't lose time to grope her ass and kiss her neck. The girl didn't say anything, she didn't even tried to struggle. Her eyes were lost somewhere only she knew, as though she wasn't even aware of being in that room with the old pig molesting her.  
"Fuu… That felt good." Papalia finally spoke when he was over with the young girl. "I really needed this. You see, Xanxus, lately, I'm not feeling well; I'm getting old, probably. And only young flesh like hers can make me feel alive again… I envy your youth, boy. You still have life before you… Assuming you agree with my offer."  
He was a real chatterbox. Not that uncommon, though, from a politician, and Italian on top of that. Xanxus was only half listening to the old man. In actual fact, he didn't care about the deal, about the blabbering old man and all that shit. Only one thing mattered for him, that was having Papalia dead by the end of the day. The ultimatum was already too high-minded; that old pig should have been killed right at the raven's arrival. He only stayed because the booze was tasteful; at least, that he would admit. But in the end, Papalia realized the raven wasn't paying him attention anymore. Old men like him don't get mad because of things like that. He just sighed and thought about something that would draw the tanned man's interest. And he somehow grasped what that particular thing was.  
"Xanxus, Xanxus…" He said. "You're a great boss, I give you that. You have no fear, you're tamed by none but your desires, and I respect you for that. But you still have a long way to go. You see, you easily lose temper. You're lacking the cool needed to deal contracts and analyze situations thoroughly. The other kid (what was his name already… Squalo, that's it?) is different."  
Xanxus eyed at him. Was that old fart really talking about the shark trash? Papalia smirked as he noticed Xanxus' interest going back to him. "You know I'm right. That kid, he has a big mouth, but he's also quick at understand things. I met him, I know what I'm talking about. He's quite witty for his young age, and he has a long-term vision I would have never expected from such a kid. The meeting at your place, few days ago, he was the one who arranged it, wasn't he? Okay, it went bad (Papalia raised his hands apologetically), but you have to concede the kid did think big."  
"You old scum, why are you talking about that trash now?" Xanxus inquired. Papalia's grin grew even wider. He had hit a nerve.  
"Oh, I told you I'm an old man. From time to time, I'm rambling a little. But you'll know, too, when you get my age, that old people have tendency to drivel on the past and also to get infatuated with young beauties like this one…"  
Papalia dove once more in the girl's neck. He tilted her head so that she was plainly facing the raven, as if the old man wanted him to be witness of her prettiness. And pretty, she was indeed. Intrigued, Xanxus stared at the delicate features framed by the thick, dark and curly hair. Her makeup was very faint; only gloss on her thin lips and mascara that lightly weighed down her long eyelashes behind which were hidden heavy greyish eyes, just like ash, the most beautiful of all.  
The girl stared back at Xanxus, and as Papalia was about to rip her clothes from the skinny body, she murmured something before slightly letting her head and shoulders fall backwards.  
The movement probably had been accidental, this God only knows, but at some point, Papalia brought the girl's left forearm up to lick on it. That's when the raven saw it: where most of people have normally a hand, the girl had absolutely nothing.  
…  
Squalo could hardly remember anything. He remembered…. He was running in the street. Men in dark clothes were running after him, never losing ground, always keeping up. The swordsman cut through shops and shops to outdistance his assailants, in vain. Trying to shoot at them in the thick crowd was useless, even if those bastards didn't mind shooting at him and even hurting passer-bys.  
He got shot, too. Fortunately, not a deep wound, barely a scratch on his leg, yet it made his course more tedious. A moment, he was practically limping along, so the silverette had no other choice but stop and hide. Now he recalled, it had been a laundry. The owner looked at him questioningly as he hid himself behind a long file of clothes, all bleeding and panting. Yet, the owner said nothing. He just watched at the silver haired boy as if to say, 'so young, and already…'  
Noticing the glare, Squalo got up and waved a hand (the valid one). "It's all right, pop." He tried to smile then got out.  
After that, everything went black. The "scratch" was actually more serious than what he primarily believed.  
When light finally broke from behind his eyelids, people were pulling him by both arms in a long and luminous corridor, his feet almost not touching the floor. Then he found himself in a bedroom, lying on a wide and comfortable bed. The place was warm, however, Squalo didn't feel at ease. He tried to move his limbs, without success. Even his eyes wouldn't open wider than a narrow slit…  
No, it was definitely impossible to get up.  
'Drugs…?' His mind processed.  
Suddenly, a weight made the mattress shift. A corpulent, half-naked man was drawing close to him. Squalo would have kicked the man right in his balls if his body had listened to him. A nauseating feeling ran through his body when the man stroked his cheek.  
'Get the fuck off. I'll kill you. Asshole. Don't touch me. Goddamn pervert.' Was what he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. The second after, he passed out again…  
But next time he woke up, the vision before he eyes almost drove him mad.  
There was Xanxus. His dear, important, more than anything adored Xanxus was watching at him as another man was trying to dishonor him.  
He wanted to cry. He wanted to beg the raven's pardon. He wanted to kill himself right on the spot for such an infamy, but he couldn't. The blackout was near, and his body once more felt heavy, so heavy… Suddenly, a crash. Squalo couldn't explain himself what was that huge noise he heard since everything went black for the nth time. The silverette felt himself being lifted from the ground.  
'That's weird.' He thought. 'It's like it's not the first time…'  
With a superhuman effort, he opened his eyes. Someone was indeed carrying him in their arms. It was a man with a familiar scent – a scent of gunpowder, blood and expensive whisky. Oh, but that scent wasn't only on him. It seemed everything surrounding him was bathed in a foul smell of dirty blood and death. Something Squalo knew more than anything else.  
"Xanxus…" Squalo whispered.  
The man didn't reply. He just kept on walking and walking. Far away, the siren of police cars and ambulances. Sounds he was also familiar with. Maybe half an hour later, they stopped. Everything around them was silent and cold. It was already late in the night. The man released Squalo. Now they were fully facing each other. A sob died in the silverette's throat as he recognized Xanxus.  
"Xanxus… Xanxus…" He whispered again. How miserable did he look now, he pondered. He, Superbi Squalo, weeping like a newly born child in front of that unforgiving man. He had failed him. He was ready to accept his punishment. …But what he didn't expect was the burning lips that crushed against his.  
Xanxus kissed him fiercely, his teeth biting at the silver haired boy's lips, his tongue penetrating passionately in his mouth and stroking its insides. Squalo let him do whatever he pleased. After all, if it was Xanxus, it was okay. If it was Xanxus, everything, the best and the worst, was always okay. The brown wig was long gone. Now, the raven had a hand softly pulling at the silver mane while the other was tracing the contours of the swordsman's waist. The latter whimpered. And one day earlier, he would have never imagined such a thing could happen to him….  
He loved Xanxus. He always did, but it was much like a fairytale love: looking at the prince from afar, not even daring to dream that one day… No, that idea would have only been painful.  
They finally broke their embrace. Squalo's face was flushed red, Xanxus' still was composed. He was angry, but a form of anger Squalo had never saw before.  
"You stupid trash. What did that old pig do to you?" He roared.  
'Nothing.' Squalo wanted to reply… Or was it what he wanted to believe? For once, he welcomed eagerly the blackout, this time, sure that when he woke up, it wouldn't be in the arms of an old pervert.  
…  
"Heavy…" Squalo grunted. It was the second time that month he woke up in a hospital room, and it was starting to become tiresome. But this time, something was different. Different and heavy. "Vooi… What the fuck…?"  
He looked down. Bel was sleeping right on top of him, his smaller body completely sprawling on his, and snoring, and drooling. "Bel! Get off, dammit!"  
After many kicks and yelling, the blond boy woke up and rubbed his eyes. "Uwaa~ Hello, Squalo." He yawned. "You're awake?"  
"How does it seem to you, you stupid brat?" He tried to roll on himself, but something else blocked his way. On his right, there was Fran pulling heavily on his arm. "Vooooi!"  
"Shhhh." This is a hospital, you know?" Fran mumbled in his sleep. Squalo couldn't believe his ears, nor could he believe his eyes. Still he knew by experience it was no use to argue with those kids, so he just slumped back in the bed.  
"Oh, you give up already." Bel spoke.  
"Of course. Yelling will only give me a headache."  
Belphegor grinned. This is how he liked the silverette: angry, annoyed and close to him. He slipped beneath the sheet and pulled at the silverette's free arm. The bed was warm and it was still early in the morning. For once since long, they could afford a lazy morning, yet he wasn't sure he could sleep with the images of the previous day in his mind.  
Images of Squalo leaving that malodorous subway, of that huge hotel suite and that bedroom; his incomprehension when he saw the silver head lying there, in a bed, in woman's outfits… Papalia's threats against the boy, his fear for the swordsman's life… Then that other room with Xanxus in it, and the cold sensation of bullets in his hands… Then the gunshots resounding behind that couch. Then images of a massacre; all that blood, all that blood on the floor. And that man, Xanxus, who as carrying Squalo in his arms, away from him again… And then that damn kiss… No, he couldn't sleep in those conditions….  
And that was when Fran switched the TV on.  
"Voooi, Fran, you motherfucking brat! Shut that shit off or I swear I'll kill you!" The entire hospital could hear.


End file.
